Soren Hates the Heron
by Libellule Moon
Summary: Well, he would, wouldn't he? Initial chapters will consist mostly of Soren and Reyson talking with/complaining about one another, and will eventually earn a T rating and Romance category.
1. Chapter 1

Hello. Sooo, first fanfic. Fun stuff. Probably Reyson/Soren, eventually. Anyway, I don't own Fire Emblem, save in game disc form. Enjoy.

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Soren didn't like the heron. Why would he? The heron was haughty, and condescending, and always around Ike. Which was where Soren always was. Which, of course, is why he couldn't simply walk away, and ignore the fact that the heron knew about the brand, and acted the way sub–that is, laguz–always acted, speaking over him to Ike whenever possible; why he couldn't avoid the way that he always looked so subtly superior, shaking his long gold hair, fluttering his pearly pure white wings, flaunting every drop of the elegance he'd had decades, at least, to perfect. He himself felt like a dark blot in the heron's shadow. It only made it worse that the heron didn't seem to be doing any of it on purpose.

Oh, no. The heron was the epitome of sincere gratitude and genuine efforts to be friendly, or at least civil. He didn't like the beorc any more than any of the other laguz, but his hatred had largely redirected itself towards Daein, and he was better at censoring his opinions than the ginger cat, at least. And Soren didn't have to spend so much of his time around her. At any rate, the heron was behaving civilly and helpfully, and he'd forgiven the apostle, and joined their company, and everyone like him, except perhaps Shinon, who was too much of a bastard to like anyone but Rolf. Why he made the exception for Rolf was beyond Soren. It would have been preferable had the sniper never returned.

So everyone who counted liked the heron, except for Soren. He couldn't complain about the heron's participation in their meetings, couldn't protest his presence in their army. Ike had allowed the heron to be there in the first place, and Soren wouldn't go against Ike because of a personal grudge. He was stuck with the White Prince, possibly until the war ended.

Awake as early as ever, Soren trekked through the shallow snow to the supply tent, his usual morning routine marred. Instead of the crisp silence of past snow-blanketed mornings, the air resonated with the soft strains of the heron's singing, as it had every morning since the heron had joined them. Soren knew the value of practice, of training; with Titania around, all the mercenaries did. Still, did the heron have to sing the same song so early every morning? Soren was used to having this one time of day to himself.

Unfortunately the heron seemed to be practicing this morning directly in Soren's path, as his perfect voice–did he even need to practice?–was increasing in volume as Soren trudged on. Sure enough, in a grove of trees beside the makeshift path, Soren could make out sparkles of light glancing off of the heron's golden hair. In the snowy landscape and weak dawn light not much else was visible. The heron was quite as pale as Soren himself, and wore almost exclusively white, after all.

The heron turned, too elegantly to say twisted, to face him as Soren walked past. Without looking at him, Soren walked the last few yards to the large supply tent, ignoring the completion of the heron's song and the soft whisper of wind on feathers. The heron didn't have to walk through cold, wet snow.

"Are you always awake so early?"

Another thing; the heron always sounded like he was singing, or about to. This, too, annoyed Soren. It was a needlessly flamboyant gesture, and doubtlessly the heron had no idea he was doing it. Instead of replying to the mellifluous voice, Soren doggedly began taking inventory. Kieran would need a new axe; it was lucky they were so cheap, considering the number that he and Boyd were continually smashing...

"I do hope General Ike appreciates how hard you work," the voice continued. Soren wondered why the heron was bothering to talk to him. He hadn't before.

"What are you doing, anyway?" Emotion sounded so much more vivid in the heron's voice; what would have been a bare trace of curiosity in anyone else was coming across with frustrating clarity.

Still refusing to turn around, Soren reached for a box of vulnaries. Before he could reach them, a pale hand had lifted the box off of the tall stack it had been perched on. Irritatingly, the heron was also taller than he was. And now he would have to turn around to take the box, because the heron didn't seem ready to relinquish it.

Spinning around snappishly, Soren snatched the box out of the heron's hands. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"Everyone says that you're the one who really runs this army, and that General Ike, while quite talented with people, simply cannot keep track of the everyday things," the heron said, looking perfectly calm and composed. "The past few meeting have made these facts abundantly clear, as well."

"That isn't an answer," Soren snapped, resuming his inventorying.

"I felt that I should become acquainted with the one who orchestrated the battles in the swamp."

Soren grimaced. So this was part of the heron's gratitude spiel. "While I do conduct our battle plans, it is Ike who decides our main course of action. Had everything been up to me from the start, we would still be at home in Crimea."

"Do you really wish you hadn't rescued Princess Elincia and begun this journey?" The heron's expressive voice made it clear how unlikely he found that idea. "You would most likely be dead."

"I never said I regret our current situation. It is true that our prospects in Daein-occupied Crimea would be slim."

"So your initial decision would have been wrong. I wouldn't have thought you would admit that."

Soren spun around again, nettled by the way that the heron had twisted his words. "Do you not have something better to do? Some of us have important duties with this army."

Of course the heron's pale green gaze was as cool as ever, not a flicker of discomfort on his face, not a shade of irritation. Soren could only feel his own building, a most unwelcome state of things.

"I'll let you get on with your responsibilities then," the heron said, sweeping out of the tent without a backwards glance.

Soren seethed for a few moments. What did the heron think he was doing, suddenly bothering him out of the blue like that? Finishing the inventory barely calmed him down.

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If you have comments, please leave them. Especially if they include knowledge of how old Reyson is; I mean, if the game says I missed it, and he looks maybe twenty, but was at least old enough to remember and understand what was going on during the Serennes massacre, which was twenty years pre-game...And Janaff is what, a hundred thirty or some such? Why can't laguz age like normal people, so we can at least guesstimate their ages? And is guesstimate a real word? Because my spell-check isn't picking up on it. And my spell-check jumped on "Ike."

By the way, this starts around chapter 20 of PoR, after Reyson's encounter with Naesala.


	2. Chapter 2

Productivity is great. I should channel some of it into school, n'est pas?

I wish I owned Fire Emblem. But then I would know all the storylines before I played it, so it wouldn't be as fun.

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Reyson's senses might be impaired by the amount of chaos in the air, but he didn't need to use his abilities at reading hearts to know that something had happened. That little healer, Mist, was looking like her heart was broken, periodically breaking out in sobs, and General Ike was tenser than before. All the other mercenaries were somewhat on edge as well, but from what Reyson could tell, that was in response to their commander's mood. They didn't seem to know what had happened.

He'd been upset enough himself after the encounter with Naesala during the last battle. Still, it felt good to forgive him, and salvage their long friendship. He'd been doing a lot of that, lately; forgiving people. The entire Begnion empire, the apostle, now Naesala...

Well, he certainly hadn't forgiven that corpulent, disgusting slug of a bishop, Duke Tanas. He'd experienced more pleasure than a heron should have, watching that pink-haired pegasus knight pull a spectacular dive and bury her lance in his odious chest. Even if he had been bodily restrained by an aqua-haired young woman at the time.

He'd been reviewing his memory of that battle, trying to figure out whether he'd noticed what the tactician had been doing. He hadn't been worrying about the other humans at the time; he'd been too focused on trying to escape the girl and get at Duke Tanas himself. Still, there was a spark of memory, of a whirl of black robes and magical wind taking down one of the knights guarding Bishop Oliver. He'd noticed as a precaution; if the future brought conflict with these humans as well, he would have to avoid that one.

It would probably be a good idea to avoid that one anyway. Still, there was something fascinating about the tactician, with the thinly veiled hostility and blatant intelligence in his wine-red eyes, and the sheer strength and skill of the magical powers housed in his delicate looking body. So, despite the red mark on his pale skin, blazing a warning to every laguz who saw it, Reyson had attempted to speak with the tactician.

Getting anything but venom out of him would be difficult, it seemed. The tactician wasn't interested in a friendly relationship with anyone but General Ike. He brushed off and barely tolerated even the original members of the mercenary company, and was outright hostile towards their sniper and the Gallian, Lethe.

It was a shame, really. Nearly all of the others were perfectly genial and accepting, but very few of them thought about much beyond this war and the issues surrounding it, or their own, usually mundane, lives. Admittedly that was quite a bit to be getting on with. But even in war meetings, the tactician's mind was everywhere, it seemed. He would make comments that the others barely noticed or understood, referencing existential questions and oblique theories. He was always getting mysterious tomes from somewhere, ones with leather covers embossed with strange symbols and yellowing pages. His speech was always challenging the others to think in ways they usually wouldn't. In other words, if he wasn't so openly antisocial, Reyson would have loved to simply talk with the tactician. Intellectual, theoretical discussion was scarce among the hawk tribe.

Lost in his own musing, Reyson barely noticed when they stopped to make camp that night, until he nearly foiled his wings in the ropes of one of the tents being raised.

"Oh, look out, Prince Reyson!" The high-pitched gasp served to redirect his thoughts, but not quite quickly enough. His wing caught in the rope, causing him to crash to the ground and pull the wobbly tent down on top of himself.

"Oh, ohmygosh, Prince Reyson!" the voice shrieked. It must be Mist, Reyson thought, a bit muzzily. His left wing was twisted awkwardly beneath him, and it was really quite painful...

"Don't you worry, Mist, we'll get the tent off'im," another, deeper voice chimed in.

"Thank you, Boyd! Please hurry!" Mist exclaimed worriedly. "Prince Reyson, are you okay?"

He made a sound he hoped they would interpret as, "yes, but not really, please get me out."

"He sounds hurt, Boyd, hurry!"

Not quite. And he wasn't too thrilled about the source of aid; Boyd, while an excellent fighter, as far as humans went, tended to lack anything that even resembled finesse, and what with the way the rope seemed to be tangled around his other wing...

"What is going on over here?" the tactician's voice snapped. Of course. Of course he would show up now. Why not? If there was one thing the tactician hated more than laguz, and possible people in general, it was ineptitude.

"Prince Reyson flew into the tent ropes, while we were raising the tent, and they got tangled, I guess, and anyway, he fell, and the tent fell on top of him, and now he's trapped under there, and I think he's hurt!"

A sharp whooshing of wings, and Reyson could hear the voice of Tibarn's eyes, Janaff, join the rising cacophony.

"What's this about the White Prince being hurt? What did you beorc do?"

"It seems that he flew into the tent as Mist was putting it up. We haven't done anything," the tactician's cool voice responded.

"Well, why don't you get it off him? If anything happens to the White Prince, Tibarn will have my wings, but I'll have your hides first!"

"That's what we're doing. Now if, you'd like to stop blustering and help us...?" The tactician's voice was like ice.

A few minutes of empty threats, thinly veiled hostility, tearful shrieking, and sharp commands of "No, Boyd!" later, Reyson was freed from the canvas and ropes.

"Prince, are you alright? Is your wing okay? It isn't broken, is it?"

"Do you need me to heal you? Boyd, where's my heal staff?"

Reyson was faintly overwhelmed by all the attention, but as he was less injured than he had been after punching Bishop Oliver, he managed to fend off the spastically concerned girl and agitated hawk.

"Do try not to impede our company while they're setting up camp in the future," the tactician said frostily. "Or do any further injury to yourself."

Reyson didn't trust himself to speak; he could feel his face heating with anger and embarrassment, and would prefer not to show such uncontrolled emotion in front of the tactician.

But the tactician didn't leave. "Ike told me that you would like to take a break for some time. That the encounter with the Raven King during the last battle was disturbing, especially on top of the rest of the experience of war...?"

To have that brought up now...yes, he had told General Ike that the last fight had been particularly distressing, and that he wouldn't mind taking a respite, but to hear the same words from the tactician made it sound like he was quitting, and couldn't handle the stress...

"I can handle it," Reyson heard himself snap. "You need my help."

"I never said you couldn't handle anything," the tactician said smoothly. "And your abilities are unique, and quite useful. Simply, make sure that you don't overwork yourself. Herons are fragile, and while I wouldn't want you to feel like a burden, you should keep your own health in mind."

So similar to what General Ike had said, and yet, the tactician made the whole thing sound like a tongue-in-cheek challenge, or subtle insult.

With that, the tactician walked away, leaving Reyson quite speechless and conflicted behind him.

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Well, I felt it was necessary to make it clear how the two of them felt about each other. To sum up: Reyson actually cares what Soren thinks, and would like to get to know him better; Soren doesn't think he cares, and they both currently scoff at one another. Things might start to be actually interesting soon. That would be nice, shì bù shì?

As a side note, Soren is ALWAYS class-changed by the Duke Tanas/swamp chapter when I play, but he's still wearing black because PURPLE? Seriously?


	3. Chapter 3

So, like 45 people have been interested enough to look a my story. I'm flattered, I don't own Fire Emblem, I'm eternally indebted to NinjaSheik, who reviewed and made my day :D, aanndd I'm procrastinating on an essay due the day after tomorrow that I haven't started yet to write this. Enjoy.

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The battle to take Daein's capital had been irritating. First off, Soren had been in charge of far too much mid-battle healing, while Mist ran around reviving those idiots–coughGATRIEcough–who allowed themselves to be put to sleep by the enemy bishops. There were far too many locked doors and chests, so valuable manpower had to be spent escorting their thief through the palace. When they finally reached the throne room, a Goldoan dragon was waiting for them. What was a dragon doing guarding the throne room of Daein? She had been extremely tedious to defeat, even with Calill, Ilyana, and himself all equipped with Thunder magic (A/N: and then the power went out, just before I KO'd her, so I had to do it all again. True story). Then Nasir had allowed her to escape, proving to Soren that his suspicions had been correct all along, of course. All in all a frustrating experience, even if Ike insisted that everything had gone off without a hitch.

And now there was a whole battalion of Begnion soldiers, led by one of Begnion's most beloved generals, ready to steal any victory they attained. Yet Ike and Titania were skeptical of this threat as well.

It wasn't a good day. At least the heron hadn't been at the last war meeting.

No, for some reason the heron was waiting in his tent. Soren paused in the entrance, rejecting the sight of the heron sitting calmly on his camp bed. Walking stiffly to his rickety desk, Soren proceeded to ignore the heron and work on his myriad other tasks.

"What is an army of Begnion soldiers doing, joining us at this point in the war?"

It's possible that Soren would have tolerated the heron's presence, if he hadn't started to ask questions. "Go ask someone else."

"You undoubtably have the most informed answer to my question. Why should I go ask someone else?"

"Because I'm busy." And he didn't want to talk to the heron, but he wasn't feeling quite blunt enough to say so.

"If you didn't waste time arguing, you might get me to leave faster. But a little social interaction won't kill you, and I'm sure that whatever you're working on will be done perfectly and earlier than necessary no matter how long I'm here."

Soren turned to look at the heron. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the only way to make him go away was to speak to him. The main question was why, but Soren wasn't quite bothered enough to care, yet.

"The Begnion soldiers are here to aid Princess Elincia in reclaiming her country. The return of Duke Persis apparently allowed the apostle to dispense with the senate's griping and send these troops."

"And that's all? No ulterior motives, no suspicions?"

Soren's eyes narrowed. Innocent though he looked, the heron obviously felt some inkling of the true situation himself, or he wouldn't voice such a comment. Either that or he merely believed that Soren himself was suspicious of everything. Possibly true, but surely the heron didn't know him that well...

"It's just that, I thought you would have considered every possible outcome by now. They aren't all benign, certainly?"

Why did everything out of the heron's mouth sound like a challenge? It might have something to do with the tent incident, Soren decided. As if the heron wanted to prove that he wasn't that inept, airheaded, or clumsy. He didn't look clumsy, or inept, really, but he did look airheaded. Pale, blonde, dressed in long, decorated robes, with his bright white wings nearly glowing in the dim tent. A vision of physical beauty, not one of skill or aptitude.

Soren examined that last thought. Vision of physical beauty...? Well, it would be illogical to deny such an obvious fact, no matter how it sounded...

"I'm sure you have some sort of dark theory on the matter. I would like to hear it."

Soren scowled as he gave in. "If this Begnion army is seen winning these next critical battles, the credit will fall to them. Crimea will once again be little more that a puppet of Begnion, and our mercenary troop will be cordially yet firmly dismissed, if not merely disposed of."

"Isn't that a little harsh?" the heron asked, though Soren could see a measure of acceptance and consideration flitting across his eyes. It was possible that he would have to award the heron some measure of intelligence, for not rejecting the concept immediately.

"Harsh but real," Soren explained. "Ike and the others would like to believe in the apostle's benevolence, but even if she herself wishes only to help, there is the senate, and this Prime Minister Sephiran, to consider. The apostle is not the innocent girl she looks like, however. She is politically astute, and it would never be unfortunate for Begnion to regain control of one of her daughter-states. As well, it would please the sort of factions that are less than pleased with her rule. She undoubtably knows what the repercussions of this act could be, and has considered how they might strengthen her own nation."

The heron looked thoughtful. Soren stared at him, surprised that he had said as much as he did. Surprised as well that the heron didn't look frightened, offended, angry, dismissive, or any other emotion that Ike, Elincia, or Titania had initially displayed.

"What will you do about it? If these troops really have come to steal the credit for your victories, what can you do?"

So the heron did believe him. Or merely wanted the answer to this question, to see how thoroughly he had thought this out, how far he would take it. Well, there was no harm in planning, was there?

"If we use these troops in critical battles, they will take the credit for any success. So I cannot plan to use them in such situations. If I have my way, the Begnion army will not take part in any of the upcoming battles, at the very least not important ones. It may be useful to have them perform more minor tasks."

"So this campaign will continue as before." Was Soren imagining the shadow of respect in the heron's eyes? The heron hated humans, and he was worse than human to laguz.

"Yes. We cannot afford to accept aid that is openly affiliated with any other nation, not in such numbers."

The heron stood up, fluttering his wings slightly. "You do have the most critical mind in this army, but you are so often correct that I wonder who is really in the wrong. I'll allow you to return to your work, however, I did enjoy this discussion."

Soren actually felt a split second, quickly denied, of regret as the heron left.

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There might actually be something reminiscent of fluff in the next chapter. But, as I don't remember what the next chapter in the game is, I can't be sure. Sorry.

Oh, and spoilers. It might be a little late for this, but over the scope of this fanfic, anything that Soren says or reveals to anyone, in any context, is fair game. Reyson too, but I'm not as familiar with his support conversations.

I have an essay to write tomorrow, so the odds of there being an update that soon are slim to none. Sorry.


	4. Chapter 4

There IS something reminiscent of fluff in this chapter. :D. Gamewise, we're currently parallel to the chapter where the boss's dying quote is "Damn...Shoulda brought more priests...or some...babies..." or some such. I just love that. And NinjaSheik and Chibi StarLyte, because they reviewed. And Fire Emblem, which I don't own.

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Reyson barely noticed the slushy snow as he stumbled out of the temple. To learn that his sister Lillia hadn't died during the massacre, but in that airless cell, was like losing her all over again. But now he knew where to direct his rage. King Ashnard of Daein had ordered his sister imprisoned in that horrible little room, and it had killed her. Ashnard had orchestrated the massacre of his people, and the destruction of his home. Ashnard would pay.

He could still see his sister's dying words swimming across his vision. Fear and pain and illness, then the sliver of hope that was General Ike's mother, all these and more had been recorded on the dank walls of her cell. Reyson tenderly stroked the old feather the tactician had found, his sister's feather. The medallion she spoke of, that little Mist had carried until so recently, could bring disaster to the entire continent. That much had been clear from his sister's writing. Ashnard had wanted her to summon the dark god, and when she refused, unable to do so even had she wished it, he had left her to her slow death. Ashnard would pay.

The Crimean princess and her mercenaries would make sure of that, Reyson thought bitterly. There was nothing he could do but wait, helping them the little he could, until they reached Melior and killed Ashnard to reclaim Elincia's throne. His death would not be in revenge for Reyson's family, or for his sister's suffering. He would die nonetheless, but not for them. All the same, Ashnard would pay...he would pay...

"Idiot!" Reyson flinched at the harsh note in the tactician's voice. Glancing at the nearest tent, which he could barely make out through the flurries of wet snow, Reyson realized exactly how cold and wet he had become, and shuddered violently.

"Get in here!" the tactician snapped, holding the tent flap open impatiently. Reyson obeyed, wondering what was prompting the aggravated scowl on the tactician's face this time.

"Are you trying to follow your family to an early grave?" Reyson flinched again; the reminder was harsh, after the day's earlier events. But he still wasn't quite sure what the tactician was so upset about.

"Even those stupid hawks have better sense than you do," the tactician continued, putting more firewood onto the small brazier in the corner. Still confused, Reyson wondered why he was using Janaff and Ulki to scold him; usually the tactician would have held up Boyd or Gatrie as emblems of stupidity...

"Do you even know what I'm talking about?" the tactician demanded. Reyson shook his head mutely. It stung to admit to any sort of ignorance in front of him, but maybe the tactician would just tell him what the problem was this way.

To Reyson's surprise, the tactician didn't launch into a fresh tirade on the dangers of idiocy. Instead he merely snapped "Stay here!" and stalked out of the tent.

Reyson moved closer to the surprisingly warm brazier and shivered as all of the slushy snow he'd collected finished melting. He was really soaked. Hopefully the tactician would be quick about whatever it was he was mad about, because Reyson really needed dry clothes.

Oddly enough, the tactician came back with...towels. And what looked suspiciously like a set of Reyson's spare robes.

"Stupid heron," the tactician accused. "You're too sickly already without catching pneumonia, and you've gotten yourself frozen and soaked through. Even those hawks figured out that they'd need to dry the snow off their wings, in weather like this."

Reyson was floored. The tactician had been yelling at him out of concern? He took the clothes–yes, one of his other sets of robes–in silent shock as they were shoved into his hands.

"Heron, the clothes you're wearing are soaked in melting snow," the tactician explained in a slow, falsely patient voice that completely failed to mask his irritation. "You should change, before you die of exposure and I have to explain to Tibarn's watchdogs that you weren't intelligent enough to avoid catching pneumonia."

Reyson snapped out of his stupor for long enough to be riled. "I was just shocked that you cared, beorc," he retorted, mimicking the tactician's refusal to use his name.

"I don't, heron. I just don't want to have to live through the interracial relations nightmare that your death would cause. Now change!" The tactician turned his back, obviously expecting Reyson to obey, which he couldn't avoid doing, not without behaving like a petulant nestling.

He wasn't sure what good dry clothes were going to do, not when he could already feel dampness spreading from his soaked wings. This was irritating; usually he could fly through rain without his wings becoming so thoroughly soaked, but this snow...

"Are you done yet?"

"Yes." Well, what else was he supposed to reply?

"Sit down on the bed." Reyson considered refusing, but the look in those red eyes promised something much more slow and painful than instant death in the event of disobedience.

The tactician grabbed the end of one of his wings, not particularly gently, and began roughly toweling it dry. Reyson twitched and tried to pull away. He was quite nearly thawed out now, and could do that himself, thank you very much–! But one particularly severe glare and he decided that it would be better for his health to stay put.

"Um..."

"Don't even start," the tactician snapped. "You didn't see Janaff trying to dry his own wings, before Ulki got back and helped him. Somehow I doubt you're more flexible than he is, and is was painful just watching him twist. This is faster and more effective, and I'm not letting you back out there with soaked wings."

Reyson awkwardly accepted that he wasn't going to escape, and cooperatively extended the other wing once the tactician had finished the first one. With the return of feeling to his extremities, he couldn't help but notice that this felt rather nice...the tactician was being more gentle now, and smoothing all his feathers back in place as he went...in fact, this felt extremely nice...

Wait. What? Reyson shook himself, earning a familiar scowl. Wait. Familiar? He wasn't...This was the tactician, this was Soren...yes he had fascinating eyes, and even better thoughts, and...no. Reyson shook himself again, and S–the tactician gave him a scowl that could kill small children. Kill...Reyson's thoughts turned back to his family, and the rest of his people.

Before he knew it he was crying. Through the tears he couldn't stop, he could see the tactician looking annoyed, but his expression quickly shifted to awkward and uncomfortable. Reyson simply cried harder. He'd been able to hold it in, while he was still in the temple. He hadn't wanted to cry in front of the others. Now here he was, alone with the one person he would have most wanted to hide this weakness from, sobbing his eyes out.

When the tactician tentatively laid a slim hand on his shoulder, Reyson was almost too far gone to notice. He was sure he imagined the hesitant, soothing noises. Still, at this point, he needed any comfort that was offered, however awkwardly.

The tactician was sitting next to him on the bed now. Deep beneath the tears, Reyson was surprised. Rationality was quite lost, though, which was the only reason that Reyson was able to turn as he did and sob into the Soren's shoulder, too drained to even avoid the use of his name.

Soren stiffened slightly, and Reyson almost pulled away, but to his muted amazement, Soren wrapped his arm around his shoulders, making another soft, unintelligible noise of comfort. So Reyson continued to cry, instead.

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Angst, angst...You probably thought I was lying, that there wasn't actually going to be anything even remotely fluffy. So hah. And why does Reyson actually start using Soren's name towards the end? Why, because the author was damned sick of typing "the tactician" over and over again. And emotional, story relevant reasons, which they'll have to discuss next chapter, so I can start using both their names all the time. Anyway, thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

FlamingDoritoes, NinjaSheik, Sargent Snarky and Khelc-sul Renai are wonderful, wonderful people. Reviews are wonderful. Ranulf, who showed up again, finally, is wonderful. Fire Emblem, which I don't own, is wonderful.

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Soren scowled as he watched Kieran fall into yet another hole in the bridge, making a mental note to lobby for the thing's destruction once Elincia regained her throne. In all seriousness, the bridge was a hazard to the health of everyone who crossed it. Soren wouldn't be surprised if the entire thing crumbled away under their feet. This section that they were fighting across was beginning to look like lace. Extremely unattractive lace, but with the same number of holes.

A yowl from behind him alerted Soren that either Ranulf or Lethe had discovered yet another pit. He didn't bother to look– they would be fine in a moment or two– electing instead to sneak a glance at Reyson, who was singing his galdr to Jill as she chased frantically after a wyvern knight in black Daein armor. He would worry about that later; at any rate, Reyson was fine, trailed as usual by Janaff and Ulki.

Not that he cared, of course. The heron was vulnerable, was all, and his death really would cause untold problems. And it seemed...too harsh, now, to keep referring to him as 'the heron' all the time...he'd earned more respect than that, or something...

"Worried about the White Prince, little tactician?"

Soren scowled. Apparently it had been Ranulf tripping into the hole, as the blue-haired cat was now standing in front of him with an absolutely intolerable grin on his face and stone dust on his clothes.

"I didn't think you cared about anyone but General Ike," Ranulf continued, still grinning.

Soren stared frostily at him, fingering his Elfire tome. It wouldn't be politically astute to roast Gallia's messenger, but he could at least smack the cat with it. This was the middle of a battle, after all, no time for idle chitchat. There was no good time for idle chitchat.

"It's probably a good thing. You need to open up more. Even if you are a tactical genius, you have a few social issues, don't you?" Apparently Ranulf was immune to icy glares.

"You're going to have some physical issues if you don't shut up and get back to the battle," Soren said in a clipped snarl. "And it is my job to look out for the members of our force, so keep your observations to yourself."

"Touchy, aren't you," Ranulf quipped, shifting back into his cat form and bounding into a wing of Daein's paladins.

Out of the corner of his eye, Soren watched as Kieran stumbled out of still another hole, announcing that Crimean Knights Fifth Platoon Kieran would not be stopped by such dastardly traps.

After the battle, Soren excused himself as quickly as possible, somewhat rattled by General Petrine's comments and thoroughly irked by the speech patterns of Crimea's Count Bastian. Tearful, overly maudlin reunions simply weren't in his plans for the rest of the day, and by the sound of it, this one could last for hours.

At least Petrine was now a charred corpse herself, one thing she certainly didn't have in common with Soren, and while Count Bastian hadn't been showing any signs of pausing in his oratory, none of it was directed at Soren. Everyone was excited by the arrival of the Crimean retainers, so he should be able to spend some time alone.

Or not, since Ranulf was seemingly less than enthralled by the newcomers, and was bounding in his direction. Soren took a moment to wonder why the laguz still moved so much like a cat, even in human form, before assuming his best 'go away before I roast your tail and feed it to you' glare.

Which Ranulf brushed off like water off a duck's back. Maybe water would be a better idea...the laguz was a cat, after all...

"Still as antisocial as ever?"

"Take the hint, why don't you?"

"Just checking up on the brains behind the operation," Ranulf grinned. Soren wished that no one knew he did anything. Far fewer people would bother him, then. It wasn't like he wanted the credit.

"Okay, you've checked. Go away."

"Reyson says you've been almost civil to him."

"He's lying. Go away." Well, maybe it wasn't a lie, but Ranulf would make too much of the situation. He wasn't friends with Reyson, or anything like that. The heron just...just...

"Yeah, he was lying. Reyson's a bad liar. But I don't know why he'd lie if you'd been your usual intolerable self around him, so you must have been being genuinely nice, for you. If he was making out that you were being worse than you actually were."

"Your logic is completely incomprehensible," Soren snapped. "Now leave, I have work–"

"Hey, Reyson!" Soren's head whipped around as Ranulf shouted, gesturing exaggeratedly at a white-winged form farther into the camp. The heron flew over more quickly than Soren would have expected, looking curious.

"What is it, Ranulf?"

Ranulf's grin widened. Soren scowled. Why was he having so much fun with this?

"I'm a bit confused, Prince. Our little tactician here says he was being just as bluntly evil towards you as anyone else, but you say he was being civil, and you were obviously lying, and he's being so defensive about the whole thing, so I thought–"

"No, you don't think," Soren snapped. "Shouldn't you go meet with Ike and the Princess and her courtiers, as a representative of Gallia? Or some other related duty?"

Reyson twitched at the mention of 'courtiers'. "Why does Count Bastian speak like that? He started waxing eloquent about how I look like, well, I don't even remember his metaphor, but it linked phrases like "our most fair princess" and "the tragic prince of the lost forest" and I think something about "noble alliances between our beautiful nation and the illustrious laguz kingdoms.""

"Even he probably didn't know what he was saying," Ranulf said breezily, completely ignoring Soren's latest dismissal. "Let the beorc deal with this reunion by themselves, I say." Soren was surprised the laguz had said something he could agree with.

"Why aren't you with them, Soren?" Reyson asked suddenly. It was still a bit odd to hear the heron say his name. Soren supposed that when you fell asleep crying in someone else's lap, you couldn't just refer to them as "beorc", "human", or "tactician" anymore. Awkward. They hadn't spoken of that night, and Soren didn't want to.

"He probably can't stand Count Bastian any more than we can," Ranulf guessed.

Soren shook his head. "Ike doesn't need me to be present for this. When we get down to planning I'll deal with the Count of Fayre, but not now."

Ranulf was looking at him suspiciously. "That last comment didn't have any unpleasant sentiment directed at either of us. You are improving."

Soren flushed, turning redder at the amused expression on Reyson's perfect face. "Shut up, cat! Do you really have nothing better to do? I suppose King Gallia sent you here to harass me?"

"Among other duties," Ranulf smirked. "Harassing you, keeping Lethe in line, reporting everything back to him, the usual. It's a nice break from his nephew."

"Speaking of Lethe, Ranulf, isn't that her over there?" Reyson asked, looking mildly concerned.

Looking where the heron was pointing, Soren could make out two figures, one with orange hair and a tail, the other carrying a bow, with a long red ponytail...they didn't look like they were having a friendly chat. Not even as friendly as the one he was currently a part of.

"Lethe and Shinon," Soren snarled, turning to Ranulf. "Why don't you go break that up before it gets violent? Since keeping her in line is one of your duties?"

Forced to leave or eat his words, Ranulf trotted towards the two, leaving Reyson and Soren alone.

"Thank the goddess," Soren murmured.

"Ranulf was being...oddly curious." Reyson said, glancing at Soren.

"Ranulf was poking his nose into things that aren't his business." Soren retorted, watching as the blue-haired cat tried to pull Lethe off of Shinon.

"Do you really value being known as a cynical, heartless intellectual that much?"

"I am a cynical, heartless intellectual," Soren snapped. "You can just go away too. I have work to do."

Reyson didn't even look hurt. Soren stalked back to his own tent to get something done, unlike everyone else.

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So, there was actually another character in this chapter, actually talking for more than two seconds. Because I adore Ranulf, even if he is just around to get beat up, most of the time. By the Black Knight aka Zelgius, by Zelgius aka the Black Night, by Skrimir...Poor Ranulf. Maybe Janaff will get to talk some more next chapter, because I adore him too. Those two would be fun in a modern AU together. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Really, this chapter of the game (chapter 24) is so unmemorable that I forgot it exists. The chapter started and I was all like, where the heck did this chapter spring from? And it looks so similar to the chapter in RD where you get Fiora that I was confused when she didn't show up and there were no villagers to save. So we'll just skip the usual bit where I make Reyson or Soren complain about events in the chapter, and go straight to dialogue.

Many thanks to NinjaSheik, Khelc-sul Renai, and Rast8a for reviewing-it's lovely to know that people appreciate my story, and feel the same way about certain game characters/events. :D

Still don't own Fire Emblem.

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"I just don't understand why you didn't argue when General Ike decided to go rescue this fort," Reyson said innocently. Soren, as usual, scowled at him.

"Ike is our commander. He makes the decisions, and then I figure out the best way to carry them out. It really isn't that complicated."

Reyson smiled. Soren's expression absolutely forbade any further inquiry, but as there was no risk except that of more acidic comments involved, it was worth it to try and learn a little more about how the tactician's mind worked.

"You argue whenever anyone else suggests something risky. It's only when General Ike announces a dangerous plan that you keep the cynicism to a minimum, and go along with it."

"As I said," Soren glared at Reyson, "Ike is the commander. I'm obliged to follow his decisions. And it is to our benefit to rescue as many remnants of the Crimean army as possible. Numbers will be necessary if we are to best the Daein troops stationed at Melior."

"You're only this defensive when you're skimping on the truth," Reyson accused teasingly. Soren certainly wouldn't elaborate if he thought Reyson was serious, unless he was severely irritated. "There's more to why you don't argue with Ike than simple obedience. You don't actually obey anyone any more than I do." Oops. He shouldn't have added that last part; it would only give Soren an out, something other than the actual question to respond to.

"Exactly. You respect the wishes of King Tibarn, in everything I've seen except your initial decision to join us, and I respect the wishes of my commander. We both obey exactly the same number of people."

Reyson frowned. It wasn't quite the same. He obeyed Tibarn, most of the time at least, because Tibarn had protected him and his father after the Serennes Massacre. He listened to Tibarn out of respect, because Tibarn had saved his life. Though...he didn't know anything about Soren's past. Maybe there was something similar there?

"I owe Tibarn a debt for his protection," Reyson said, deciding to dig for more information. "It's completely different. General Ike is merely the the commander of the mercenary troop you were a member of."

Yes, that ought to draw something out. Soren had twitched rather violently at 'merely', and, for some reason, 'were'. His face looked like a thundercloud, no mean feat for someone so pale.

"Whatever King Tibarn has done for you cannot compare to what Ike and Commander Greil did for me," Soren hissed. "Any of the laguz rulers would have taken in the heir and King of the herons. You're precious, the rest of your race is lost, your forest home was destroyed. You aren't Branded, weren't an orphan; you could have gone to any number of people for protection and security."

"How long have you been with General Ike?" Reyson felt a bit guilty. Soren was extremely touchy about the Mark on his forehead, even though most of the laguz with the army ignored it. He'd never spoken of, or even referred to, his heritage within Reyson's earshot. That he had practically screamed it spoke to how deeply Reyson's comment had stung.

Soren's face had resumed his usual icy glare, with an equally cold fury glinting in his bright eyes. "Ike was the only person to be kind to me when I was a child. That memory gave me the strength to continue my studies of magic, and find him again one day. And Commander Greil was a good enough person to accept the service of a child mage in his mercenary troop. They were the only ones who ever accepted and valued who I was, not who the mark on my forehead might make me."

"Did you ever tell them what it meant?"

"Ike knows. I think Commander Greil must have, as well. They were living in Gallia, after all. If he knew, he didn't care. Neither does Ike."

"That's one of the best things about him, as a commander," Reyson said thoughtfully. "He genuinely doesn't care who someone is, what they are, what they believe, what they've gone through, or what they've done."

"He deserves our loyalty," Soren near-whispered. "That's why I don't question decisions like the one to rescue Sir Geoffrey. He has my loyalty on a deeply personal level, and also as the general of this army." His gaze and voice sharpened. "I will always be a member of the Greil Mercenaries. Ike won't give up on the legacy his father left him. He will keep the troop active, and I will remain as his tactician."

"Do you love him?" Oh, goddess. Why did he say that? Why did he even think that? The conversation had been going so well, he'd finally gotten Soren to open up a little, and then he'd had to ask something like that?!

Soren looked shocked, too completely to even be angry. "Excuse me?" No, still angry.

"Ah, you could just forget I said that..."

"Do you love King Tibarn?" Soren snapped.

Reyson blinked. "No." He didn't. Not romantically. "I love him platonically, of course."

Soren stared pointedly at him. Very pointedly. Arrow-to-the-brain pointedly. "No more do I love Ike. He'd my first, best, and only friend, and like family to me."

"Ah," Reyson said weakly. Maybe he was going to survive this experience after all.

"I'm going to go work on supply inventory now," Soren said, giving Reyson a look like 'don't you dare follow me.' Reyson wasn't inclined to argue. One near-death conversation was enough for now.

He watched Soren stalk away, pondering. It was safe to assume that apart from General Ike and his father, and possibly Titania and Mist, no one knew that story. Reyson felt honored, and hoped that Soren wouldn't regret telling him, once he calmed down. It had been a bit underhanded to bait him like that, after all.

"Why are you so interested in him, Prince?"

Reyson jumped. "Janaff!" He gasped, spinning around to spot Tibarn's lieutenant, who was hovering lightly above the ground, his wings making enough noise that Reyson couldn't believe that he hadn't heard him coming.

"You've been spending a lot of time with him," Janaff commented. Reyson knew it wasn't worth his time to tell the hawk not to follow him, but he surely wanted to.

"He's...interesting." Lame answer, but he wasn't sure what Janaff was driving at.

"He's intolerable," Janaff corrected him. "He doesn't make friends, barely speaks to anyone, and is so insufferably intelligent that he can't help but insult others when he does."

Reyson just stared at Janaff. There must be a point to this, he just hadn't found it yet. Tibarn's lieutenants were there to keep him safe during battles, so he wasn't sure why Janaff was commenting on who he spoke to.

"It's just that Tibarn wouldn't want you to be hurt emotionally any more than he wants you to be hurt physically," Janaff continued, looking a bit awkward underneath his quirky smile. "So, I mean, well..."

Oh. Janaff was worried that he would be hurt if Soren didn't want to be his friend, which, as the hawk doubtlessly saw it, was a given.

"I don't think you need to worry too much, Janaff," Reyson said smoothly. "He doesn't really mean it when he's so unpleasant."

Janaff didn't look like he believed that. "Yeah, and King Ashnard doesn't mean to start a war."

"Um, well, still. I..."

"Look, Prince Reyson, it's your business. I shouldn't be badgering you about it. Just...keep his personality in mind, please? I don't understand why you want to be his friend. He doesn't seem to want any."

"Maybe he needs some anyway."

Janaff sighed. "Like I said, I guess it's your call. Make sure you get some rest; it was a long battle today." Saluting casually, Janaff flew off.

Reyson wondered idly if he would ask Ulki to listen in on his conversations with Soren. No, Janaff wouldn't go that far. He was just concerned. It would look odd, from the outside, the way he was always trying to get Soren to talk to him.

It wasn't healthy to have no friends. Attuned as he was to balance and order, Reyson knew that. That wasn't why he wanted to be friends with Soren. At this point, he wasn't sure why he did, but it was something more than a chance for intelligent conversations. It was just a matter of time until he figured it out.

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Meanwhile, Janaff read the transcript Ulki had made of Reyson and Soren's conversation. No. I honestly don't think he'd do that, at least not at this point. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Um, yeah. So Thanksgiving Break is over, and writing can commence anew. Joyful day, eh? What was the best thing about break? Sleep.

Many thanks to Khelc-sul Renai, NinjaSheik, and Tengo uno gato for reviewing. Yes, Soren is an ***, but seriously? He IS. Like, in the game he is. But he gets (a little) better in Radiant Dawn. And, well, if Reyson was as testy here as he can be in the game, they wouldn't speak EVER, and the purpose of this fanfic would be firmly thwarted. Reyson trumps Soren in the able-to-act-civil-without-seeming-OOC category, in my opinion.

Mostly that last chapter was there to get rid of the Problem of Ike, who would be a more logical option for Soren to be romantically interested in, given their past, blah blah blah, assuming he swings that way, which we are, etc. But that would also thwart the eventual purpose of this fic, so there.

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It had been a relief to see King Tibarn swoop down out of nowhere and wipe out that enemy troop. It had been pleasant to see the happiness on Rey–on everyone's faces. It had been amusing to see Janaff tripping over his own feet to assure King Tibarn that Prince Reyson was perfectly fine. It had been heartening to see the assembled laguz leaders offering Princess Elincia their support. It had been extremely irritating to be called a child.

And everything only went downhill from there; Soren found it ironic, after they fought their way up a mountain for this news. King Ashnard, it seemed, intended to use war to free the dark god from the medallion, which Mist had carried, but conveniently lost. It wasn't her fault, of course, but he couldn't help being slightly irritated with her. The only other way to free the dark god would be for a royal heron to sing a specific galdr. So of course King Tibarn's news would have to be that Princess Leanne had been kidnapped by a mysterious black-armored knight. This mysterious knight, it turned out, was none other than the man who killed Commander Greil, as well. Soren was almost as insulted by the fact that Ike hadn't told them he knew who had murdered the commander as Titania, though he concealed it better.

She was nearly screaming and on the brink of tears as she confronted Ike about it, dragging him from the tent, and leaving an extremely annoyed Soren alone with Reyson, who was more white-faced than usual, and King Tibarn, who looked as contrite as was physically possible for a practically seven foot tall, heavily scarred hawk.

"My hawks tell me that the Black Knight is commanding the garrison at Nados Castle," Tibarn said.

"We'll have to take both Nados Castle and Fort Pinell before moving on Melior," Soren said absently, concentrating on the map in front of him. There was no harm in wasting time; by the time Ike returned, he wanted to have at least some measure of a battle plan worked out. Better that than screaming his irritation at the hawk king and running out to berate Ike about not trusting him.

"Do you think that the Black Knight will still have my sister with him?" Reyson asked in a shaky, but furious, voice.

"No. He will have brought her to Ashnard, or wherever it is he wants her kept. Possibly at the capital, but more likely somewhere secluded. He needs her to sing the galdr, so she will doubtlessly still be alive."

Reyson didn't look too reassured. King Tibarn looked angry, probably because Reyson was unhappy. Soren braced himself to deal with the Hawk King, but thankfully Ike and Titania reappeared before he had to. Explaining his plan took little enough time, though apparently enough to convince King Tibarn not to tear him limb from limb. Well, he could try, anyway.

Incidentally, Soren decided that being called a "clever one" by the hawk king was quite easily as infuriating as being called a child.

"What will you do about this Black Knight?" Reyson asked, following him out of the command tent. Soren was surprised that the heron didn't want to spend more time catching up with Tibarn.

He made an effort not to take his annoyance out on Reyson, who had, after all, just found out that one of his two remaining family members was in the same enemy hands that had killed his other sister.

"It will be up to Ike, I think," Soren answered. "He has a very strong sense of duty, and honor, and all of those meaningless things. He will want to exact vengeance on this Black Knight for the Commander's death. I will have to find a way to keep him safe."

"You don't think General Ike can defeat this enemy? You usually have more faith in him."

Soren looked at Reyson, who was still too pale, and looked like he was in another world altogether. "You obviously don't mean that comment to be hurtful, so I won't take it as such. But no, I an not at all certain that Ike can defeat this mysterious knight, not when we know nothing about him, and he has the ability to be in Phoenicis one night and Crimea the next. It is impossible to know what other arcane powers such an enemy might have. Ike, though extremely skilled, has not had even a year's worth of genuine combat experience."

"Then what will happen?" Reyson's eyes were losing the sheen of absence, returning to their usual sharp green, and he was getting a hint of his usual color back.

"I will figure something out," Soren said, wishing he sounded more convinced.

"General Ike's sense of honor, and all those other traits that you consider useless, will demand that he face this enemy alone."

He'd wondered if Reyson had caught that comment. Of course the heron wouldn't agree that such emotions caused nothing but trouble. Thankfully, this was giving him an out, something else to argue, instead of admitting that he didn't have a counter, yet, to Ike's overbearing code of honor.

"Honor can only result in pain. It drives people to their death, because they think that something as intangible as honor is worth dying for. It makes them champion hopeless causes, fight against impossible odds, and throw away their lives to protect something that means nothing."

"You exaggerate. Honor demands that people help others, those who are in need. It doesn't kill. It asks people to defend their country and their friends, as with how you decided to serve the Princess."

"You mistake honor and duty. Duty demands that people do those things. It was our sense of duty that led the Greil Mercenaries to aid Princess Elincia; duty, and a love of country that I do not share. A better way to examine honor would be to look at the actions of the Crimean retainers up to this point."

Reyson obviously didn't see what he was saying. His face was set in a puzzled frown, with one deep crease formed between his elegantly sweeping eyebrows. Soren sighed internally. He'd long since given up on berating himself over the use of such adjectives when describing the heron, just as he'd given up on being derisive about how much Reyson viewed the world as good, even after how much he'd suffered. Well, not too derisive. At least Reyson didn't see humanity as inherently good, only the world in general. That was irritating enough.

"Lady Lucia and Count Bastian would have had us abandon Sir Geoffrey and his men to their death, in order to protect the honor of their land. They were so set upon the protection of their princess, on keeping her from all harm, and preventing all risk to her cause, that they would leave a comrade to his perfectly avoidable death, and call it honorable."

"Honor almost never goes so far," Reyson protested, the immediate trauma of his sister's kidnapping seemingly forgotten. His color was back to normal, even if his face was tinting to red now in the defense of 'honor'. "Honor prevents people from doing terrible things."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Theft, and murder, and mistreatment of innocents," Reyson declared, sounding like his usual self. "Honorable men and women do not do such things."

Soren was finding this conversation oddly therapeutic, as if all his irritation was funneling off into the heron. "Normal people don't. But normal people aren't all honorable."

"Why are you smiling?" Reyson looked suspicious. Soren stared at him for a moment, and, to his dismay, noticed for the first time the distinct feeling of a curve of a smile on his lips. He quickly schooled his features back to their usual mien.

"I...wasn't." Only he had been. Reyson had pointed it out; he obviously knew. Why had he bothered to deny it?

"Were you actually enjoying the conversation?" Now it was Reyson sporting the smile, a rather radiant expression in the twilight gloom.

Soren just stared at the heron for a moment before walking away, flushing–for no reason at all!–and muttering something about inventory he needed to do.

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Where have these last few chapters gone? Nowhere, that's what it feels like. Blech. At some point, I feel like I should do a chapter where one of them gets hurt and the other one freaks out. Should that be next chapter? Or at some point in the RD storyline? Yes, after the endgame chapter, there will be a three year hiatus, and then the story will pick up again. And you thought that this was moving towards some sort of climax. Hahaha...erm. Well, there'll be something special before the game break. Love you all; thanks for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

So I just discovered that link in the emails that tell me when wonderful people such as Khelc-sul Renai, FlamingDoritoes, and NinjaSheik review, the one labelled "reply." Slow on the uptake, aren't I? Anyway, that sounds like fun; I think I'll start using it.

Sorry I haven't updated for like a week. I hate this chapter; I really, really do. Writing has been uncommonly difficult lately. Kill me now.

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There was a whole new challenge in designing tactics for use on such a huge, empty field. At least that was what Soren had said, quite sharply, when Kieran and a few of the others had questioned today's battle strategy; they had been disappointed that there was no element of headlong charging. Instead, they had worked their way up the slope to the fort at an almost sedate pace. Reyson wasn't complaining–it was difficult to keep up when Soren allowed Kieran and Marcia to set the pace, usually at a headlong mad dash into the center of the enemy's ranks.

To make up for that, it seemed like Soren and Ike had decided to severely up the speed of post-battle recovery, however. The enemy general's corpse had barely hit the ground before they had finished securing Fort Pinell and started off to Nados Castle.

Reyson could understand General Ike's hurry, since the man who had murdered his father was in that castle. He didn't understand why Soren was allowing this alarming rush.

The tactician was a little ways away, trying to get Ike to sleep. It had been difficult enough to make Ike order a halt for the night. Their commander was pacing back and forth with nervous energy, and, Reyson could feel, no small amount of anger. It was giving Reyson a headache to watch him. For once, Soren was the one with less chaotic emotions.

Not that it was really obvious when Soren was genuinely angry. Anyone who wasn't a heron would probably point at General Ike every time as the one who was feeling the most anger, or stress, or hate. Soren's typical bitter mien was so familiar to everyone by this point that they didn't think twice about it. Not to say that they didn't care; everyone was still careful not to anger him. But General Ike was more visibly emotional. He shouted with happiness and rage, he pounded his fist on tables to make his point...Soren always spoke in the same precise tone of voice, varying only in the level of biting sarcasm, and never jumped up or did more than point calmly at marks on a map.

Still, Soren was the one who always radiated the most negative emotions. General Ike had an underlying optimism that tempered everything else, and in its place, Soren had stress, and bone-deep cynicism. But now, General Ike's rage was burning through even his stubborn optimism, and the way that Soren was putting everything he had into calming him down had almost extinguished the tactician's cynicism. Worry was the emotion radiating from him now.

Finally, General Ike stopped pacing and went into his tent. Soren stood outside in the darkening twilight. Reyson stayed perched in the tree he'd been sitting in, electing to watch the tactician from a distance this time, rather than expose himself to Soren's acerbic tongue. Soren only got worse when he was upset or frustrated about something, and he was very worried now.

From here, it was possible to simply admire his appearance, from the midnight-black fall of his hair in its odd silver clips to how very pale his delicate hands looked against his dark robes. Reyson knew that the first thing he had noticed about Soren had been his angry red-eyed stare, but the striking contrast between his hair and skin had been next, followed by a general appreciation of the combined effect. The way that his slim, even delicate body was lent strength by the intensity in his eyes and then emphasized still further by that contrast of black and white had been captivating, until he had opened his mouth. Soren's caustic way of speaking had removed all thoughts of his appearance from Reyson's mind, for a while. By now, though, Reyson could appreciate the fact that Soren simply didn't speak any other way, and that there was no particular malice behind most of his sharp words. If he behaved differently, it would probably be difficult to take him seriously. Pretty and slim weren't adjectives that inspired much faith in one's abilities, but Soren was able to forcibly obtain some respect for his skills by the way he spoke, with directness and biting intelligence. Soren was undeniably pretty, but far more than that, he was genuinely brilliant.

Reyson wasn't sure what to do about that. He knew that he was attracted to Soren, but there were about a thousand reasons that a relationship of any sort was impossible. To start, he was on shaky enough ground with the tentative friendship he'd managed to cultivate. It had taken months to get as far as he had. And then there was race; it was bad enough for a laguz to fall in love with a beorc, and Soren wasn't even that. Reyson sighed. He'd made a mistake, thinking that he would be able to stop at friendship with someone so mentally and physically attractive. Things were becoming...difficult.

~o~O~o~

The interior of the castle was full of enemy soldiers, of course, but the situation looked manageable. There were three main hallways, from what Reyson could see; the one in front of them had locked doors, so Soren had called Volke in. Reyson didn't understand how a mere human could vanish so thoroughly. Everyone else looked edgily excited–after all, this was the last fort before Melior–but none more so than General Ike.

"All right, everyone," Soren called out briskly, "We'll be splitting into three groups. Marcia, Mist, and Kieran to the right; Boyd, Nephenee and Ilyana to the left. The rest of us–myself, General Ike, Reyson, Volke and Gatrie–will take the main hallway. We'll regroup in the throne room."

Marcia whooped, flying off at top speed right into a clump of knights, followed by an equally enthusiastic Mist and Kieran, who was, as usual, shouting about his position in the Crimean Royal Knights. Reyson wondered if he would ever realize that he wasn't technically a Crimean Royal Knight at all anymore.

At any rate, he was uncommonly relieved by the groups. Of course Soren would stay with General Ike–he always did, and with the Black Knight somewhere in the castle, it wasn't likely that he would let him out of his sight. But it would have been easy for Reyson to be in a different group. He was very glad he wasn't.

There were feral laguz in their hallway. Reyson looked away as Soren's Elfire engulfed one, and the other was impaled on Gatrie's lance. They hadn't yet discovered what had happened to make these laguz fight so, and it tore at Reyson's heart. Too many things were doing that, lately.

"Reyson!" Like the owner of that voice. What would Soren do if he, say, kissed him? It didn't bear thinking about.

Soren was gesturing impatiently for him to follow. Gatrie was filling one of the doorways as completely as the newly unlocked door had, while General Ike finished off one of the guards and Volke leaned against the wall, looking bored. Reyson quickly snapped to attention, singing his galdr as the others moved into the room.

After killing the soldiers who were inside, they took a moment to catch their breath, to Reyson's relief. Tactics had resumed top speed, it seemed. By the way General Ike looked ready to pound down the next door, that was probably a necessity. Volke was taking his time opening the nearby treasure chests, and the general's increasingly murderous glares were alternating between the door and the assassin.

"You need to pay better attention," Soren snapped. Reyson twirled around. The tactician was standing right behind him, slightly flushed and disheveled from fighting, with a few strands of his hair, loose from their clips, flipped the wrong way across his forehead. Reyson's fingers itched to smooth them back into place, but the borderline irate expression on Soren's face forbade any such thing.

"Shut up," Reyson retorted indistinctly. The chaos in the air was getting to him; that must be why it was so difficult to concentrate. His eyes kept straying back to Soren's disheveled hair.

"We don't bring you along so you can daydream," Soren retaliated, turning to snap at Volke. "Let's get this door open."

Reyson trailed them into the throne room, singing his galdr a few more times during the next few minutes of intense fighting. Everyone arrived in one piece, though Boyd and Kieran were looking pale from loss of blood. Most of Kieran's skin matched his armor.

Soren rattled off a few more orders, almost drowned out by Mist shrilling at Boyd as she healed him. Volke slunk off to open the treasure chests that Ilyana timidly reported finding, and Nephenee engaged the enemy general with the new killer lance Soren had given her. Reyson stood by to sing if she needed him, but it wasn't necessary. It seemed he'd been standing too close; blood splattered across his face as Nephenee lunged, nearly ripping the enemy general in half. Reyson almost threw up.

Then General Ike was storming across the room towards the door behind the enemy general's corpse, with a look in his eyes that told Reyson that the real battle hadn't started yet, despite the number of corpses on the floor.

~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~

Sooooo.....yeah. Next chapter we have: Soren angst-angst-angry-angst. And the Black Knight. And stuff. And I don't own Fire Emblem; forgot to mention that earlier. And why am I always talking about Kieran? I don't even like him... Anyway, thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

BLEEAARRGGGHHHHH FINALS. Curse them. And now, to make myself feel better, I'm going to rant about the VERY UNHELPFUL anonymous review I got. No one has to read this, but...Really, zzzzz? If it's nonsense, WHY DID YOU BOTHER TO READ THROUGH TO CHAPTER 8 TO REVIEW? I have no particular aversion to anonymous or negative reviews, but I'd prefer to know WHY someone doesn't like my story, if they dislike it enough to leave a review inferring so, not just that they DON'T. In fact, PLEASE tell me if you don't like something, but tell me WHAT. And if you're going to ASK A QUESTION, sign in or get an account or DON'T USE RHETORICAL QUESTION FORM, so I can RESPOND somewhere OTHER THAN THIS SPACE HERE, because NO questions are entirely rhetorical. Of course, I'm wasting my metaphorical breath, since I'm sure my dear friend zzzzz (really, are you that bored and unimaginative?) won't read this.

On to the chapter (I do feel better now, though).

~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~

Soren stared at the closed door, the sound of it slamming shut echoing like thunder through his mind. Ike was fighting the Black Knight, and he couldn't be there. He felt numb. What if all their battles over the past year came to nothing here, because Ike had to satisfy his honor? They wouldn't come to nothing, actually. At this stage in the war, they could finish it with or without Ike. But they shouldn't have to.

Soren shuddered, shaking some of the frozen numbness from his mind. Delayed rage melted some of the rest. Titania had stopped him from following Ike, but allowed Mist in? Their commander was fighting for his life with only his kid sister beside him? This wasn't how it was supposed to work.

He should have figured out a way to avoid this scenario entirely, Soren thought, numbness and rage receding in panic. Barring that, he should be there with Ike. He should–

"Soren!"

He should tear apart the offending voice, so he could think in peace–

"Soren!"

Someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes–when had he closed them?–to an entirely white field of vision. Well, not completely white. There was some pale green, and gold, and more gold... Reyson. Soren's gaze traveled up to the heron's concerned face.

"Are you all right?"

No. Of course he wasn't. He had failed to keep Ike safe. Ike could die, because he hadn't thought of a way to keep him out of that room alone.

"I'm fine."

Reyson sighed. "Come over here."

Soren let the heron lead him over towards the wall–but not out of sight of the door. If he tried that, Soren had a very nice Elwind tome with him...

As they moved, Soren noticed that everyone else was watching warily. Boyd even edged backwards as they passed. Soren would have derived at least some pleasure from that, in any other circumstances.

"General Ike will be fine, Soren."

Soren glared at Reyson. "How do you know? We don't know anything about this enemy. Ranulf could barely scratch his armor, and as much as I'm loathe to admit it, the cat isn't to be scoffed at. We don't even know if the Black Knight was telling the truth about the holy sword!"

"Calm down!"

Soren realized that he had been nearly shouting, and was grateful for the columns blocking some of the sound from the others. They all seemed to have retreated to the other side of the room, too.

The heron still hadn't let go of his shoulders. Soren jerked away, glaring harder and rueing Reyson's resilience to his best murderous stares.

"I don't know why your faith in him doesn't extend to this," Reyson remarked calmly, holding Soren's gaze with his brilliantly green eyes. Somehow, Soren couldn't tear his own away.

"I'm not there to help him," Soren retorted, sounding far more helpless and afraid than he wanted. He was angry, curse it, not afraid!

"He doesn't need your help for this. You wouldn't be able to hurt the Black Knight, if what he says about his armor is true."

Soren couldn't think of an appropriate response with Reyson's eyes injecting calm straight into his soul. Finally, he managed to look away. It was like Ike trying to get supplies from Aimee, a dazed part of his mind suggested. Impossible to get her to let go. Oh, yes. Ike.

"He shouldn't have to do this at all!" Soren snapped, relieved that he sounded irate and not pathetic.

"We've had this conversation," Reyson reminded him, trying to catch his eyes again. "He needs to do this to satisfy his honor." Soren stared at the floor, determined to stay angry. It was safer that way.

"To Ashera with his honor!" Soren cursed. "It's meaningless!"

"It's important to him," Reyson said softly, brushing his fingers against Soren's arm. Soren had to remind himself not to look up. In fact, he wasn't going to argue anymore, either. He was just going to shift his stare to the door, and ignore the heron. What good would calming down do? Not less than staying terrified, some part of his unnaturally wayward mind responded. He quashed that thought with all the violence it deserved. He was not terrified.

"Look at me," Reyson commanded, just as Soren started to shake. He was not afraid, Ike would be fine, everything would stay as it should–

"Soren."

Somehow he couldn't bear to disappoint that voice. The functional fragments of his mind–why couldn't he focus?–screamed no, that the heron was using seid magic, he mustn't look. He had to watch the door.

Suddenly, Reyson's hand was under his chin, forcing his head up. When their eyes met, it was as much the anger in the gesture as the motionless calm in the heron's eyes that settled Soren's own emotions. His eyes narrowed, and he searched through that unnatural calm.

Yes, there was anger there, deep down. And worry. That made Soren feel a bit better; Reyson wasn't as collected as he seemed.

"Let go of me," Soren snapped, more to say something than any other reason. The heron's touch wasn't exactly unpleasant. Really, his hands were quite warm, and his skin was very soft...of course, he never had to do anything with his hands, there was no reason for–Bad thoughts. Yes, the heron was very pretty. Yes, he was generally nice, not that that mattered, and he was intelligent. But right now, Soren hated him, and had to worry about Ike. Not worry. Watch for Ike.

Reyson hadn't let go. "You can't do anything now. All you can do is believe in him. You're very good at that; now use it."

Soren took the advice, allowing himself to dwell on memories of successes. Ike hadn't needed his help, once actual fighting began. Ike could handle himself in a fight. He closed his eyes again. Ike would be fine.

Reyson was humming something, and had slipped an arm around Soren's shoulders. The humming was deepening the safe place in his thoughts. Soren distantly felt the nervous tension leave his body. The heron's arm around his shoulders felt nice. He felt his head hit Reyson's shoulder, thinking remotely that this was not right at all, but it certainly felt right.

"Are you feeling any better?"

The humming had stopped. Soren's mind cleared, but the idyllic calm remained. He debated moving. Really, he shouldn't be letting Reyson hold him like this. But he could still see the door, so maybe it was alright. Obviously his mind hadn't cleared all the way, part of him suggested.

"It seems so," he whispered into Reyson's shoulder. "Never do this again." He was aware enough to realize he was going to regret this moment later. Even if he had to convince himself to.

Reyson didn't respond, but Soren suddenly felt him stiffen, and heard surprised shouting from the others. The others. Soren winced. They wouldn't be able to see this from where they were, would they...?

Such trifling matters were shoved from his mind–he could always threaten anyone who had seen with death–when Nasir practically flew across the room, wrenched the door open, and dashed inside.

Pushing away from Reyson, Soren swore for the second time in less than fifteen minutes. There were much better ways to express himself than curses, but he couldn't remember any of them.

"Was that Nasir?" Reyson sounded as amazed as Soren felt, just without Soren's characteristic wrath that something so unexpected could occur.

"Yes," Soren snarled, shocked into full awareness. "What is he doing here? Where did he come from? If he hurts Ike, I'll–"

The entire castle started to shake. Ike and Mist, bloodied but alive, erupted out of the door, followed closely by Nasir, carrying the dragon girl they had fought in the Daein capital. Soren was too nonplussed for more than a brief flare of relief.

"Everyone out!" Ike shouted, waving his sword. "The castle's collapsing!"

Soren ran. There wasn't anything else he could do; he would have to berate Ike later. And question Nasir, and have Rhys take a look at the dragon girl; she looked to be in bad shape. And have a talk with Titania, and Mist. But not Reyson. He wanted to forget the past half hour. He knew he wouldn't.

A few breathless minutes later, everyone was standing outside, watching the castle crumble into a mountain of rubble, faces etched with horrified awe. Then everyone was crowding around Ike, shouting questions and accolades, demanding to know how he had beaten the Black Knight. Everyone assumed that he had; otherwise, how would Ike be out here, alive, and the Black Knight be–presumably–buried underneath the crumbled castle? Eventually Soren pieced together the whole story, and left Ike to his admirers. He would be able to talk to Ike alone later. Some of Reyson's calm must have stuck, he mused. He would expect himself to be unable to leave Ike's side now, not walk away. Of course, Ike wasn't in any danger, except perhaps of being smothered by the affection of the rest of the army. Or importuned by someone like Aimee. Soren smiled ironically. Ike was too oblivious for that.

He would have to deal with Nasir and the girl, even though it sounded like they were allies now. They would probably be in the healer's tent...

"Soren?"

Soren flinched. Unmistakably Reyson's voice. He turned reluctantly.

"Are you upset about what I did?"

He didn't sound like he was apologizing.

"Just don't do anything of the sort again," Soren snapped halfheartedly. "You were trying to be helpful, but I need the use of my wits."

Wrong answer, Soren knew before it left his mouth. He'd been a wreck, he could admit that now. Reyson had known it all too well at the time, and hadn't likely forgotten.

Reyson was smirking. "You weren't exactly in top form, earlier." He hated it when the heron smirked. He only did it when he was right.

"Shut up!"

"Your hair smells nice." Reyson spread his pearly-pure white wings, and vanished oddly quickly for a white bird at night.

Soren barely stopped himself from cursing again. What was that supposed to mean? Was the heron flirting with him? If so he wasn't doing a very good job, even if Soren could feel his face flushing. At any rate, it wasn't possible.

~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~

Ummm yeah. So I took liberties–from babies and similar sources– on the subject of what Reyson can do with his voice. Do forgive me, as I don't own Fire Emblem, and if I did such things would be more canon. And I need a break from serious exams. Hope you enjoyed; thanks for reading !


	10. Chapter 10

*crawls out of hibernation and blinks blearily in the freezing winter sunlight*

~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~

Reyson flung himself out of the way of another Feral One, mentally promising himself that he would kill Nasir himself if they didn't find Leanne in the tower. Getting angry was, for now, much preferable to the alternatives. Acknowledging the horrors posed by this battle was a bad idea whilst in the middle of it, and he had a terrible feeling that the day was only going to get worse.

The Feral One, a brutally twisted Gallian, met Boyd's laguz axe coming the other way, and Reyson winced away from the resulting spray of blood. One would think he would be used to such things, by this point, but no, mere repetition was not enough to accustom him to seeing Boyd take the heads clean off of enemies bare inches from his face. Whoever first used "clean" as an idiom for such things had obviously never seen it happen, or had a sick, perverted sense of clean. And Reyson wasn't using those terms lightly.

"Watch yourself," Boyd said cheerfully as Reyson sang his galdr, before bounding off towards another cat. Reyson looked away, but still heard the inevitable wet _thwack_ and injured yowls cut short.

"It'll be over soon," Soren said from behind him. Reyson didn't jump, but barely. He was getting better about not leaving his stomach behind when someone appeared behind him; as Tibarn had told him, the moment it took to flinch was enough for an enemy to kill him. Of course, if an enemy had gotten as close as Soren just had ad Reyson hadn't noticed, he'd have been killed regardless of a moment's surprise.

Soren stared at him briefly, as if deciding whether or not to dress him down for inattention. "We should get ready to go inside," Soren finally deadpanned, nodding towards the entrance to the tower.

The sage guarding it was too busy trying to fry Boyd and Kieran with his Bolting tome to notice Nephenee striding towards him. General Ike was finishing off a dragon nearby, one of the few spots of action remaining, now that Reyson was looking. He looked back at the throne just in time to see Nephenee do critical damage to the sage. Really, even with a killer lance, the girl shouldn't be able to do that _every time_...

Soren was stalking determinedly towards the door, reaching it at the same moment as Tibarn and General Ike. Ranulf slunk over seconds later, and Reyson hurried to join them.

Going through the tower was one of the most emotionally grueling experiences of his life, Reyson decided after a few minutes. For every door they opened, his heart was in his mouth, hoping to find Leanne, then dropped into his feet when they didn't. Then he had to feel the immense relief that they hadn't found her mangled corpse, and after that the horror of all the other nameless mangled corpses. Then they would leave that room, and the whole cycle would repeat again.

They were at the bottom level of the tower now. The smells were terrible, and Reyson was thankful for the dim torchlight. He didn't want to know what that was on the walls. General Ike and Ranulf looked nearly ill. Tibarn only looked wrathful. Soren's face was blank, though the way his hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists spoke to his opinions on the sights thus far. Reyson was nearly sick with worry. There was still no sign of Leanne.

General Ike wrenched open the last door, a heavy iron affair set at the bottom of a few more stairs. Reyson stepped back. The stench of blood and decay was positively boiling out of this room. The others took a few tentative steps forward, and Ranulf came back out almost immediately, gagging and pressing his hands to the wall for support. Reyson preferred not to touch the walls. Just the thought made him pull his wings in more tightly.

"No sign of Princess Leanne," Soren said, his clinical, tightly controlled voice giving Reyson something to ground himself with.

"But this is the last room," Reyson whipered.

"We haven't found her corpse, either. The cell doors were open when we were there earlier; it's possible that she escaped somehow."

Well, it was nice of Soren to offer that comfort, even if it was so obvious a lie. How would his fragile sister ever escape from a place like this? And why did Tibarn look so calm? He was furious about the results of the experiments done here, but he didn't seem worried at all about Leanne.

"Let's get out of here," General Ike commanded shakily, pale-faced as he exited the room. "We can talk outside."

Soren nudged Reyson lightly, then grabbed his arm impatiently and led him outside. Reyson was faintly surprised; Soren had scrupulously avoided touching him after the last battle. That was a small matter in the face of Leanne's absence, though. He could feel himself shaking. It would be too much, to lose her again so soon...

The setting sunlight was too blood-red for Reyson's peace of mind as they left the tower. He hadn't stopped shaking, and Soren hadn't let go of his arm. But the tactician wasn't looking at him...he was staring into the sunset, squinting angrily against the glare. And...yes, there was something flying towards them. Too large to be mere birds. Laguz? But who? Tibarn was looking almost triumphant...hawks, then? But the way they were flying wasn't right for hawks...

"Looking for something?" Such a familiar drawl. Reyson had thought that he would never be happy to see Naesala again, but behind him there...

"Leanne!" Soren let go of his arm as Reyson flung himself towards his sister, murmuring with her in the language of their ancestors. He just barely caught Tibarn's smug thanks to Naesala, and the latter's grudging acknowledgement of them.

It was well past dark by the time that Reyson could bear to leave his sister in her own tent. He'd barely noticed as they returned to the base camp, flying more on a high of relief and joy than concentration. He was still feeling the same way, but the army would be moving early the next morning, and he needed to rest...

So did certain other people, Reyson reflected as he passed the supply tent. It was clear from the light silhouetting the slim figure inside that Soren wasn't asleep yet either.

"Why are you still up?" Soren snapped as he slipped into the tent.

"Why are you?" Of course Soren would manage to head off his question.

"I have to take care of this! Our next battle will decide this whole war!" Soren looked up from his remarkably complete-looking papers for long enough to glare at him. "And...I'm glad we found Princess Leanne," he mumbled, writing something in one of his ledgers.

Reyson grinned. It seemed that Soren was getting over his affront from after the last battle. It was unusual for him to say something so unmistakably nice, to say the least. Though Reyson wasn't sure if he wanted Soren to forget about that incident...it was nice that Soren had reverted to their rather strange friendship, but mightn't it be better if they could move forward, instead?

"What are you still doing here? I'm sure today was difficult for you. Go get some rest."

"I'm touched by your concern," Reyson said, with just a touch of irony, "but you should really take your own advice."

Soren didn't look like he knew how to respond to that. He must really have been tired; usually an irritated scowl would be an acceptable reaction.

"Come on," Reyson coaxed. "What more could you possibly need to do with those? There's no more space to write."

Soren's gaze at his ledgers was indecisive. They were obviously more than adequately completed.

Sighing, Reyson grabbed Soren's sleeve and the lantern from the table. It was only a few steps from the supply tent to Soren's, and Reyson couldn't help but wonder for a moment if the tactician was being so compliant because he knew he could just go back when Reyson left. It was nice, though, not to have to fight every step of the way. Dealing with Soren was emotionally draining, and this brief moment of complaisance was almost bizarrely restful, especially at the close of this particular day.

Reyson took firmer hold of Soren's arm, turning to meet his eyes. Reyson never got tired of Soren's eyes, even when they were piercing straight through him in a merciless death glare. Now, Soren just looked a bit resigned, and calm in a way that was also warning.

"Go back to your own tent now, heron," he said, the words lacking any of his usual asperity.

"Goodnight to you, too," Reyson quipped, smiling one last radiant smile. When he glanced back over his shoulder a few moments later, Soren was still standing outside his tent, watching him.

~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~

Ummm...the next chapter will be better? Especially if you leave me advice on how to suck less at writing? At least I have lots of free time this month, since I only have one class...

zzzzz- Leave me a review that makes sense? Either the meaning of "intelligibility" has changed or you liked the last chapter...? If so, what changed? Well, I suppose unintelligible reviews are better than none.

The music I'm listening to sounds like it's sung by psychotic Japanese hamsters. It's too late at night for this. And I couldn't remember what comes first; Naesala showing up with Leanne, or the exploring-the-tower ordeal. Meh, it's more dramatic this way.


	11. Chapter 11

Hi. This chapter is reeaaalllllyyy long, so...maybe it makes up for the fact that I haven't updated for three weeks? Please don't kill me, or hate me, or have voodoo dolls of me, or anything. Although if one of you does, and was poking pins in its back about two weeks ago, it works, because that's when I fractured two of my vertebrae sledding. So, please don't do it again? You can have a cookie. They're chocolate chip. I own them, unlike Fire Emblem.

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Soren wasn't even trying to quell the nerves he was feeling. He knew that his expression was keeping everyone away, but that was just as well. If anyone came too close he'd probably scream, or break into a fresh bout of double-and-triple checking. And he'd already checked everything...well, he didn't actually know how many times. Hopefully enough. Everyone else seemed to think so. It had taken all night, and most of this morning.

This was the deciding moment, though. He was justified in what was probably anal amounts of perfectionism. They were standing in front of the Crimean royal palace, moments away from the most important battle of the war. Everything had to be perfect. They couldn't risk losing this.

"You need to calm down."

He needed to strangle Reyson so he could never sneak up on him like that again, was what he needed to do.

The heron was standing right behind him, close enough that if Soren moved more than an inch they'd be touching. Not what he needed right now, or ever. That sort of thing...was distracting. He didn't need distractions. As he'd just decided, he needed to strangle the heron, so he couldn't surprise him and he'd stop talking. Actually, in that light, being this close would make that goal easier...

"Everyone is as ready as they can be," Reyson continued, far too calmly. "There's no reason to wait if it's only worrying you. Why don't you tell Commander Ike that we can get started? He's waiting on you."

Soren glanced over at Ike, who was looking back with a heady mixture of excitement and assurance on his face. Curse him, he didn't even look worried, only determined and, well, ready. Sighing, Soren waved that yes, everything was prepared.

Ike shouted for everyone to move out, an order that was greeted by a few raucous whoops (Soren suspected Boyd) and more cheering. Then it all began.

Soren semi-reluctantly joined the group he'd assigned himself to. Ike wasn't in it; there wasn't much that Ike couldn't handle at this point, and Soren had to do what was best for them all, which was to send Ilyana with Ike's group and go with another himself. His group was smaller, so Reyson was with them, as much as Soren preferred not to have the increasingly distracting heron too close. They couldn't afford to have one team weaker than the others, though, and Reyson's skills tipped the balance. Reyson's skills, and friends; King Tibarn had shown up minutes after the battle started and gravitated to the heron prince like water runs downhill. He took his duty to protect Reyson seriously. There was no reason for the prickle of irritation that Soren felt when the hawk king appeared at Reyson's side. He decided to write it off as annoyance that his plans had been disrupted, however favorably. There was certainly no other reason. None whatsoever.

These were Ashnard's elite troops, and were not to be taken lightly. That said, everything was going quite well, from what Soren could see. Boyd was bleeding, but that was nothing unusual, and Mist was right there; the enemy soldiers around Ike's group were almost completely ignoring Ilyana until the little sage ripped them apart with her magic; and he could hear Kieran shouting happily from the other side of the courtyard. Everything was going as planned, excepting the unexpected appearance of King Tibarn, who was...yes, still right with Reyson. Good. That way Soren didn't have to go near him. He was perfectly safe with the hawk king. Not that Soren was any more concerned for Reyson than he was for anyone else. The heron was frustrating, confusing...

Almost deadly to stare at, Soren realized moments later, as a swordmaster popped out of almost nowhere and Soren dodged with little enough alacrity that he came away with a sizable gash in his robes. The swordmaster's charred corpse was in considerably worse shape, but that had been too close.

A few breathless, chaotic minutes later, nearly all of the enemy soldiers had been dealt with, and their army had reconvened just below where Ashnard was waiting. The Daien king seemed perversely unfazed by the death of his soldiers, and was leering evilly at them. It was all Soren could do to convince Ike to take a minute to catch his breath before challenging him.

"Are you all right?" Reyson asked, shaking his wings out as he landed beside Soren. He barely looked like he'd been in a battle. There wasn't a mark on him, not even blood from enemy soldiers. He just looked a bit mussed, like he always did after flying. Soren felt unreasonably scruffy in comparison, splattered in red as he was, with his robes torn. He just knew that his hair was slipping out of its clips, and that he looked wild-eyed and flushed from the fighting.

It was unreasonable to feel at all ashamed for any of that, so Soren didn't, and firmly quashed the faint desire to not look like such a mess. Stupid thoughts. Really, if anyone should be feeling embarrassed about their appearance, it should be the pristine heron. It didn't look like he'd done anything at all.

"I'm fine," Soren responded, turning away to check the rest of their party. Of course the heron couldn't leave it at that.

"What happened here?" Reyson laid a hand on Soren's shoulder, fingering the cut in his robes. Right down his front, across his left arm and the same hip. Another inch, and...well, he probably wouldn't be talking to Reyson right now.

"It's nothing. He didn't hit me," Soren said shortly. The concern on Reyson's face was unwanted, and too gentle and calming at that moment. They weren't done yet, and there was something vaguely obscene about talking normally when Ashnard was still right above them.

"I'm glad," Reyson said with a hint of irony. "They'll still need you after the war, you know."

Soren was startled. Reyson rarely mentioned "after the war." He didn't either. Getting through the war had been the priority. This really didn't seem like the time.

"And really, it doesn't look like he entirely missed," Reyson continued, pulling the cut edges of Soren's robe apart enough that they could both see the long red line across the skin of Soren's arm. "Another inch..." Reyson gave him a meaningful look, and wiped at the slight upwelling of blood, trailing his fingers along Soren's arm just slightly longer than necessary for the action. Which was in itself completely unnecessary to start off with.

Suppressing a shiver, Soren jerked away. Distracting, distracting–he didn't need that now!

"I know," he snapped at Reyson, who looked like he wasn't quite sure what to do about the blood on his fingers. "But I'm not dead, so you can just shut up and keep your hands to yourself!"

He probably shouldn't have added that last part; Reyson was far too good at picking up on the true source of Soren's irritation, and it wasn't the concern. Too late now.

"Alright, Ike, it's time to finish this," Soren declared, striding over to the commander, who immediately repeated that, much louder and more enthusiastically, earning cheers from the rest of the group.

They quickly figured out that only Ike and King Tibarn could touch Ashnard. Soren wasn't surprised, or even too unhappy. This was nothing like Ike's battle with the Black Knight, because Soren could stand right behind Ike and heal him, and Reyson was right there in case his skills were needed.

It was actually over fairly quickly. Soren didn't feel much as he watched Ike strike the final blow. Everything suddenly burst into chaos, jarring after the hushed silence that the company had held during the duel. Mist was rushing forward to glom onto her brother and everyone was cheering and running and hugging one another.

A wheezing roar brought everyone back to reality. It seemed that the Mad King's wyvern was still alive, unlike its master.

"Rajaion!"

Soren twisted around to see Ena running towards the mortally injured beast, with Nasir close behind her. A few seconds of commotion later, Ike and everyone else had let her through, and Ena had her arms wrapped around the wyvern's head.

It wasn't exactly clear what was going on, but between Ena's tears and Nasir's explanation, Ashnard's mount was revealed to be a prince of the dragon tribe, Ena's love, and the father of her child. Just another crime to add to Ashnard's list, Soren mused as Leanne and Reyson moved forward.

He found it difficult to think much at all as they started to sing. Such a sophisticated galdr was wolds apart from Reyson's usual, and that was enchanting enough. This sound was pure, impossible magic, stronger than anything Soren could hope to do, and infinitely more beautiful. This saved lives–it had given a whole forest new life–while all Soren could do with his magic was kill. A sobering thought, and not entirely fair; the herons were born to sing like this, and couldn't fight well enough to even defend themselves, and Soren had unusual aptitude and skill for the magic he could perform, but still.

While Ena cried over her love's corpse, Soren stood with Ike, King Tibarn, and the two herons, watching Mist run around looking for something. It had to be her mother's medallion–or Lehran's Medallion, as they now knew it to be. Hopefully it was here.

"Are you doing all right?" Soren found himself asking Reyson. Now the heron looked like he'd been through a battle. Singing that haunting galdr certainly took something out of him. Leanne, leaning against the hawk king, looked just as exhausted.

Reyson smiled wearily. "Revenge for my asking earlier? Well, I'll be fine soon, and I appreciate the concern," he responded, his bright green eyes catching Soren's.

Soren felt his breath catch, and looked away. This was getting ridiculous, he had no reason to feel so awkward when Reyson looked at him like that, he had no use for such emotions and ought to get rid of them–

"Ike, Ike, brother, I found it! I found mother's medallion!"

Soren could quite possibly have kissed Mist. Or, at least, given her a small hug. What a timely distraction.

Mist gave the medallion to Leanne. Soren was impressed that she could, since it had meant so much to her. Even if it was necessary, to prevent the escape of the dark god, it was still surprisingly mature of Mist to give over the only memento of her dead mother voluntarily. It was also nice because Reyson stayed with Leanne for quite a while, as they figured out how to muffle the medallion's flames, allowing Soren to go about his business without any distracting, too-pretty heron princes following him around.

~o~O~o~O~o~

Eventually, everything was sorted out enough for Ike to speak to all the members of their forces in a sort of formal goodbye, even though Count Bastian and a few of the others were planning a party for that evening.

Mostly, Ike and whoever he was talking to exchanged pledges of friendship and expressed congratulations. Except the original Greil Mercenaries, everyone was returning to their home nations, or their usual business. They wouldn't see Ike again anytime soon, and this farewell had to be at least reasonably serious, since not everyone was likely to be sober enough to remember what was said later that night, if Soren had the right idea about Count Bastian's plans. Still, Soren had a few favorite exchanges.

Predictably, Shinon didn't have anything good to say about Ike. The sniper had never liked Ike much, or at all, which was only one of the reasons that Soren had never liked _him_. Shinon was still coming back to the mercenaries, though, Soren was sure, even if his two cents was to say "You're a snot-nosed whelp, and I'm still better than you" to Ike while Gatrie blathered on about something completely unimportant. It was nice to know that some things would never change.

Mia's moment was even better. Soren hadn't been sure if she would come back with them or not; she'd been a mercenary before, if not with them.

She came up to Ike, grabbed his arm, and shout-purred "I am completely in love with you– I mean, your fighting style!" Soren wasn't sure how it was possible to shout and purr at the same time, but the result was an enthusiastically over-fond exclamation that gave just enough leeway for someone really clueless to miss the fondness. Which Ike did, and they promised to train with one another in the future. Soren supposed that that meant that Mia would be coming back with them.

Reyson and Leanne would be going to Gallia. Soren decided that he was relieved.

~o~O~o~O~o~

Soren was a bit apprehensive about Count Bastian's party, in part because of who had helped him plan the thing–Ranulf, Janaff, Marcia, Calill and Mia had helped with the concept, while Lucia and Oscar figured out the actual logistics, which assured that all the crazy, uncontrollable ideas that the first group came up with would actually come to fruition. Somehow, Ike had convinced him that he had to be there. Soren still wasn't quite sure how. He'd been very busy at the time, and had agreed in a moment of terrible, terrible inattention, just to get a moment's peace. And now here he was.

They'd set up in one of the smaller ballrooms, one that hadn't suffered any damage during the Daein occupation. The lights were dim, and most of them had colored instead of clear glass shades. Count Bastian had found a band somewhere, and they were playing loud, fast-paced music in one of the corners. There was a long table set up along one wall, covered in food and punch, with one end serving as a bar, with Bastian and Calill serving as the bartenders, and refusing to mix anyone a drink while they watched. Soren was quite sure that there was alcohol in the punch as well, he just didn't know how much. Mist and Rolf both had empty cups in their hands and were staggering around giggling, so obviously too much. Unless those two had managed to drink more than one cup in the three minutes that the party had been going.

"You might want to keep those two from drinking any more punch," Soren said, nodding at the kids, as Oscar walked past.

"What? Why?" Oscar looked a bit distracted. "Oh...wait! What have they been drinking?" Now he looked alarmed.

"I just said," Soren said acerbically. "It was punch."

"I _told_ Ranulf not to put alcohol in that!" Oscar shouted, dashing at Mist and Rolf.

"We're off to a good start!" Marcia cheered, handing Soren a cup of suspicious red liquid of his own. "Try to have a little fun and not be such a sour apple, 'kay? Cheers!"

She dashed off to join Mia, who was distributing more drinks whose only similarity was that they undoubtably contained above-average amounts of alcohol. Soren walked over to set his on the long table before returning to his corner.

"Not drinking, little beorc?" Janaff asked, wandering over. He had something purple in a cocktail glass.

Soren was wondering if he was going to have to talk to everyone at some point during the night. This was already what, three conversations in as many minutes?

"No, I'm not."

"Awww, come on," Janaff coaxed. "Loosen up for once. Look, even those mousy little beorc are," he said, pointing at Astrid and Ilyana, who were indeed both drinking toxic-looking cocktails of their own, even if Ilyana seemed more interested in the food. Much more interested.

"No." Soren refused flatly, staring grimly at the hawk.

"Too bad," Janaff said cheerfully. "We've put up with your antisocial crap for months. One night of fun won't hurt him, will it, Ranulf?" Janaff asked, looking over his shoulder.

"I doubt it," Ranulf said with a wolfish grin, appearing from behind Janaff's outstretched wings. "Come on, Soren. We'll get you a drink."

Soren made them practically drag him over to the makeshift bar. He didn't have a lot of choice in this unless he wanted to hurt them, which...he didn't. They meant well, and it nearly hurt to admit it, but that was enough to spare their skins, for now. If they didn't lay off soon, though, there'd be trouble.

"We need something for our surly little tactician here," Ranulf announced happily.

Calill looked up from adding a suspicious amount of what looked like whiskey to something murky brown, which she handed to Gatrie. "You got it," she smirked. "Convinced him to party?"

"Not on your life," Soren snarled.

"Unfortunately, I don't think even Ashera could do that," Janaff said blithely. "But we have successfully press-ganged him into drinking."

"Too bad," Calill laughed smokily. "Well, here," she said, offering a dark blue cocktail. "There's plenty more, if you decide to join the party after all."

Soren just glared at her and took the drink, taking a sip. "Look, I'm drinking," he said pointedly, with a glare for Ranulf and Janaff as well.

"Good job," Ranulf congratulated him. "Keep it up. Well, Janaff, it doesn't look like Tanith over there is drinking either. Shall we?"

Soren glared at their backs as they ran off for a while more, sipping at his drink. It actually tasted pretty good. For something absolutely disgusting.

"They actually got you to drink one of those concoctions?"

And there was the Last Thing He Needed, more commonly known as Reyson.

"It got them to leave me alone," Soren said pointedly.

"Are you telling me to take the hint?" Reyson asked, with the usual edge of irony.

Soren didn't want to look at him, so he took another sip of his strange blue drink.

"Because I think we ought to talk," Reyson coaxed, an odd note of something Soren didn't recognize in his voice.

"And I agree, because you won't leave me alone until I do. This won't be a problem once you leave for Gallia tomorrow, but I don't feel like being bothered all night, so sure, let's talk."

Of course, that meant that he was going to have to look at the heron. That was kind of included in the whole talking thing.

Reyson actually looked a bit morose. He was hiding it fairly well, but there just wasn't the same challenging spark in his eyes. Eyes which looked absolutely unworldly in the strange light. Soren sighed internally. There was always something about the heron that made it hard to look away.

"It's because I'm leaving that I want to talk," Reyson said, with the same forced lightness. "It's likely that I won't see you for a long time."

Soren stared at him. As long as he had to-didn't want not to-couldn't look away, he should at least try not to act like...well, like Aimee looking at Ike, or something. Which he wasn't, at all, but he was afraid that that's what he _looked_ like.

"It's likely that we'll never see one another again, ever," he said flatly.

"Does that bother you?"

Taking another sip of that wretched cocktail to avoid Reyson's eyes, Soren considered the question. It wasn't actually a clear answer. The immediate one was a resounding no, it didn't, but he had the odd feeling that he and Reyson were actually friends. He didn't mind the heron's company, really; it was habit that made him keep trying to push Reyson away. So...

"Yes."

Reyson looked like he didn't believe what he'd heard. "Was that yes, it bothers you that we might never see each other again, or yes, I'm glad you're leaving?"

"I don't know why you would assume the second," Soren snapped. "I'm not intoxicated enough to mistake your question that badly."

Reyson still looked mildly poleaxed, which gave Soren a certain amount of pleasure. The heron usually kept better check of his emotions.

"Why?"

Soren wished that Reyson hadn't asked that. He didn't really know the answer.

"Does it bother you?"

"I wouldn't have asked if it didn't," Reyson replied, watching Soren too closely for real comfort. Actually, Reyson was physically a bit too close for comfort. Again. Oddly, Soren was fairly sure that a few months ago it hadn't been uncomfortable when the White Prince stood this close. It had just made him angry.

"Why?"

"Why do I have to answer first?" Reyson was smiling again now, and the spark of challenge was back. maybe Soren had imagined its absence. That was all too possible in this awkward light.

"Because otherwise I won't," Soren retorted, glaring.

"Then it's because we're friends. You're interesting. I'll miss just talking to you, because the way you think isn't at all like the way that laguz, or most beorc, think."

Soren was flattered. A strange, unfamiliar feeling, and one that made the uncomfortable, awkward feelings he didn't really want to examine worse.

"Will you answer now? I'd like to know why you never tried very hard to make me leave you alone."

"I did try," Soren protested. He _had_. "You were just too cursedly stubborn. But I suppose I didn't try very hard after the first few times."

"Why?"

Soren was really starting to hate that word. "Because you're intelligent and calm and you don't let my cynicism scare you. And because I've...never had any friends but Ike," he finished quietly, immediately regretting that last truth. Maybe Reyson hadn't heard him–

An unusually loud round of screaming made them both look up. Mia, visibly red-faced even from across the room, had wrapped an arm around Ike's neck and was kissing him, rather sloppily. Soren winced. There was no way Ike could misinterpret this.

Amid the catcalls, Soren could make out Reyson laughing softly. Glancing back at Mia and Ike, who seemed to be kissing back, Soren could feel himself blushing.

"I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone got around to that," Reyson said, amusement clear in his voice.

"Yes, but did it have to be Ike?" Soren asked in a pained voice. "Couldn't Gatrie have gotten very, very drunk and gone after Marcia, or something?"

"Why does it bother you?"

"If you use that word one more time, I'll dump this all over you," Soren threatened, gesturing with his still mostly-full drink. "It would probably stain your hair."

Reyson recoiled in mock fear. "Not the hair! Well?"

When several seconds of Super Death Glare had no effect, Soren gave in. "Because it's Ike. He's been all I have for so long, and if he and Mia fall in love...it's selfish of me, but I don't want that to happen." Since when did he spill his innermost thoughts to Reyson? Maybe Calill's drink was more alcoholic than he'd thought.

"But we're friends now," Reyson said, touching Soren's shoulder. "And I don't think you need to worry about them being in love just yet. Mia is infatuated, and both of them are drunk."

"It doesn't matter. They have years; she's coming back with us. I'll never see you again after tonight, so even if we are friends, I'll still only have Ike."

Reyson looked indecisive. When he met his eyes again, Soren's breath caught again. He wished that it would stop doing that. And that the uncomfortable feeling would stop flaring up whenever Reyson looked at him.

"I don't suppose you know what it's like to be more than friends," Reyson stated carefully, barely making it a question.

"No." There wasn't any harm in answering that; he didn't, and it wasn't likely to happen. Ever. It wasn't.

"It's gotten easier to read people, now that the war's over," Reyson continued. "All of the chaotic energy is fading. But I can't tell what you're feeling."

"Good," Soren snapped. He didn't want the heron examining the odd feelings he was experiencing. Seeing Ike and Mia, he'd gotten a sinking suspicion about those emotions. Because he really didn't like girls, and Reyson was the most attractive person he'd ever met, in all the ways that mattered.

Shit.

And Reyson was looking at him oddly, and he looked really beautiful, even with the strangely colored lights dying his hair and clothes and skin in shades of blue and red and green. Only his eyes were the right color, the pupils dilated against the dimness, though his hair kept its usual glint despite the new colors.

Reyson reached out, slowly, and touched his face. Just set the tips of his fingers–delicate, soft, pretty fingers–against the side of Soren's jaw. Just that, but Soren could feel his heartbeat accelerate, and, in contrast, barely felt Reyson take his drink and set it aside before lacing his other hand through Soren's own. Soren was fairly sure, somewhere that wasn't paralyzed by this development, that if he wanted to keep denying those odd feelings, he had to stop this now.

He didn't, and Reyson turned slightly to face him directly, looking nervous, slightly, but more determined, and Soren was even more sure that it was too late, and he didn't want to, anyway.

It took an absolute age for Reyson to lean forward the few inches between them. Soren couldn't breathe. This couldn't possibly be happening.

It was, though, and Soren had to face up to that when Reyson's lips touched his, just barely, for the longest moment Soren could remember. When Reyson leaned back, he was blushing too, which made that distant still-functional part of his mind feel better about the red he knew was flooding his own face.

They just...watched each other for a few long moments after that. Not staring, exactly, and Soren knew he wasn't glaring–he probably looked as poleaxed as Reyson had earlier, albeit with a redder face. And Reyson looked faintly apprehensive, and like he was waiting for something.

"Not much of a first kiss," was the first thing Soren managed to say, and he had no idea where that thought had even come from, let alone how it had escaped. Still, it seemed like a good response, because Reyson let go of his hand, reaching around his back instead, and pulled him in closer, sliding his other hand behind Soren's neck. Soren wasn't quite sure what to do with his own hands, so he settled them around Reyson's shoulders, and waited.

There was more staring. Soren had the idea that this could have been extremely awkward, and was glad that it somehow wasn't. He also had about a second to be glad that they were standing in a fairly dim, empty, and secluded corner before Reyson kissed him again.

Much better, was the first thought to make it to coherence. Reyson had very soft lips, and was kissing him hard enough to need the hand behind his neck, moving his mouth just slightly against Soren's.

Then he opened his mouth, just a little, and Soren did too, because it felt right, like the warmth of Reyson's body pressed against his did, and Reyson licked his lips, and Soren didn't know why that felt so good, only that it did. So he opened his mouth a bit more, and Reyson did too, and the kiss got deeper and harder and better, until...

It ended, like everything. Soren wasn't exactly sure how much later. Not very long. Long enough that he was out of breath, but that didn't take very long, really. He was suddenly much more bothered that Reyson was leaving the next day.

~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~

Guess who just wrote their first kiss scene? Meeeeeeeeee. Guess who should be writing an essay? Still meeeeee. It seems like I can only write when I ought to be doing something else.

Sorry I didn't reply to reviews. I accidentally erased everything in my email inbox, and had no idea how to retrieve any of it, and so didn't. But I still love you, like, a lot. More than my nonexistent boyfriend. The end.


	12. Chapter 12

Everyone do the filler dance! Oh well, Reyson comes back next chapter, and since Soren was the only one around during the folllowing events, he gets to narrate for an extra chapter. Which is like three game chapters, but who cares.

Thank you wonderful people who review, favorite, alert etc. ILU all.

~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~

Listening to Elincia's tearful thanks after the Greil Mercenaries' rescue of Lucia gave Soren an ideal opportunity to reflect upon how things had changed in the last three years. Elincia had said everything important in the first few minutes, after all. Not that he disrespected her; in putting down the rebellion, she had shown more determination than Soren would have expected when she first took the throne. Even now, after seeing how she had been ruling up to this point, Soren was slightly surprised.

Overall, though, affairs in Crimea were none too shocking. It was only logical that there would be a rebellion against the gentle, unprejudiced new queen. Soren was only surprised that it had taken three years, really. That Duke Ludveck must be more of a coward than he would like to think. Elincia should really have just killed the man, but that would be going too far, for her.

The news from Daein was more surprising. This Maiden of Dawn girl was much more successful than Soren would expect anyone leading a rebellion against Begnion to be. More unsettling were the rumors–very reliable rumors–that the Black Knight was helping the girl. That was going to prove upsetting in the future, even if Ike had taken the news comparatively well in the present. Soren couldn't imagine Ike letting the matter be. It wasn't in his personality.

Plenty of things were, though, and several of the most irritating resurfaced in quick succession. First: Everlasting friendship with any and everyone, as demonstrated by Ike's enthusiastic reaction to the arrival of Ranulf. Ike acted as if the last time they'd seen the cat was yesterday, not nearly three years ago. Second: Pure chivalrous honor, as demonstrated by his anger upon hearing about the Laguz Alliance's treatment at Begnion's hands. The murder of some nameless messenger grated on him as much as if the laguz had been Mist. Third: Unyielding willingness to help, as demonstrated by his immediate acceptance of Ranulf's proposal. Ike didn't even wait to hear how much money Gallia was offering. Fourth: Unbeatable confidence, also demonstrated by his acceptance of said offer. Didn't Ike realize that he had just agreed to go to war against Begnion, the largest and strongest nation on the continent?

Soren's horror only deepened when they went to meet the Gallian general that they would be working with. Skrimir dwarfed Ranulf, and even Ike, who had bulked up considerably during the last three years. Nearly seven feet of sheer muscle and red hair, it was easy to see why a nation obsessed with physical prowess had accepted this individual as their next leader. The lion had an attitude to match the hair, as well.

"No more of this "tactics" garbage! It is time to kill!" Skrimir roared, storming out of the council tent. Soren wanted to strangle him, but was positive that his rather delicate hands wouldn't reach around the Gallian general's neck. There was more to war than strength, and Skrimir seemed more likely to transform into a butterfly and start singing ballads than grasp that concept.

Soren cast a baleful glance at Ranulf as he went to oversee the Greil Mercenaries' preparations. It was all the cat's fault that he had to deal with three hundred pounds of brainless, testosterone-fueled lion, after all. At least during this battle they would mostly be fighting separately from the Gallians. With the element of surprise, the fight should be simple, and the strategy was too. If Skrimir couldn't sit through such a short briefing as this had been, Soren shuddered to think of his reaction when they reached a more complicated battle.

A roar from the right alerted him that the Gallian army had engaged the Begnion troops, so Soren nodded at Ike to begin. Just the type of headlong rush that Marcia and Kieran had loved, during the last war; Soren allowed himself a moment to wonder where they were. Only a moment, before an enemy soldier loomed out of the night and he had to focus all of his attention on fighting.

Once the battle was won, Soren had gained a bit more respect for Skrimir. As in, he had grudgingly acknowledged that the lion was undeniably formidable in battle. It was just that he lacked the important traits, like intelligence, and any shred of patience. The exact opposite of Reyson, though both laguz grated on Soren's nerves like rusted iron.

Somehow Soren doubted that Skrimir would grow on him the way Reyson had, though. Or reach the level of emotional influence the heron had gained over him. Even three years later, Soren felt uncomfortable and slightly panicked when he remembered the last time he'd seen Reyson. He still couldn't quite believe that he'd kissed him. It had been good, at the moment, and for about three seconds afterwards. Then he'd realized what had just happened, and bolted from the ballroom. The most coherent though he could manage for hours was 'what in Ashera's name did I do that for,' and even that was far outweighed by panicky shivers of unintelligible shock. It took far too much effort to confine the memory to a more objective center of his brain. It kept leaking out to stab directly into his emotions.

Nothing was supposed to do that. He was supposed to be able to look at everything from an intellectual, objective standpoint. And Reyson had managed to open a path straight into instinct, without any say from his well-trained consciousness. It was unacceptable. The heron was still doing it, even though Soren hadn't seen him for three years.

There was no point to trying to figure out why without the Reyson around, so Soren had neatly stored as much of that line of thought as possible away until further notice. The right time might never arrive, or so Soren had thought until Ranulf showed up. If the Greil Mercenaries were fighting for the Laguz Alliance, it was fairly likely that they would encounter Reyson eventually. The idea shot directly into Soren's emotions, as expected, and stirred up a completely indecipherable cloud of sentimental nonsense. There wasn't time for this.

The next battle would be Mugill, and Soren was thinking that the Greil Mercenaries could handle that largely on their own, at least in the early stages. The Gallians could fight after they got through the outer defenses.

If Ranulf could keep Skrimir in check long enough. What parts of the 'speeches' Skrimir gave to his troops could be condensed down to "Kill, lots, and fast!" which boded ill for the entire waiting idea. Soren sighed and left his tent, dreading the pending war meeting far more than he usually would.

"...so Lethe and Mist will bring the guards the drugged food, then the Greil Mercenaries will take control of the outer defenses. The Gallian troops come in after that. Does everyone understand the plan?" Soren gave the group around the table a deadpan stare, willing them to just agree.

No such luck. Skrimir stood up, roaring something about cowards and killing and fighting like a sneaky beorc. Ranulf looked slightly embarrassed, and Ike nonplussed.

"Do you realize how completely absurd you sound?" Soren snapped, standing up as well. He looked tiny enough next to the lion without being seated. "You can't expect to fight the Begnion army without plans! You hired us, now you have to let us work."

Skrimir growled something unintelligible, but sat back down. Soren glared at him a bit longer, for good measure, before following suit with a huff.

"The plan sounds good to me, Soren. Good work." Ike grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. As usual, the praise from Ike made everything else lessen in importance.

"Yeah, sounds great, Soren, thanks," Ranulf agreed, looking at Skrimir. "If that's all, then we'll just go inform our troops, right, Skrimir?"

"We have no need for plans! But I suppose that the beorc cannot fight the way we do. Still, there will be fewer details in the future!"

"If you're telling me to stop strategizing, you can say goodbye to any hopes of winning this war!" Soren said angrily, temper fraying further.

"Think, Skrimir. Just try. If we want to win–" Ranulf began placatingly.

"No! That's your job, Ranulf!" And with that, Skrimir stormed out of the tent, rather like a petulant child, Soren mused. A seven foot tall, three hundred pound, lion general of a child, of course.

"Sorry about him," Ranulf laughed uneasily. "I'll work on...getting him to listen to strategy, it's just–"

"Not how laguz fight," Soren finished for him. "I get it."

"Well, we'd better go get everything ready, huh Soren? We'll have to tell Oscar about the drugged food," Ike interjected, probably completely oblivious to how welcome it was.

Soren nodded and left the tent.

About the only interesting thing to happen during the battle was Boyd running into one of the nearby houses and coming out looking like he'd seen a ghost. One that he'd absolutely despised during life. That, and the sight of Lyre taking a solid ten minuted to kill an armored enemy, and refusing Lethe's help as if her sister had fleas. Soren didn't give either matter much attention; he'd gotten used to such antics during the last war. At least he didn't have to deal with Kieran, or, say, Tormod, but at the rate that they were encountering old allies, he was half-sure that it was only a matter of time.

"Our next battle will be against the norther nobles, as these last few have been, but we're going to have to cross the river soon, and the Begnion Central Army is getting closer," Soren reviewed during the next strategy meeting.

"Well, guess what? You can just sit back and relax for this one, Soren, 'cause we've got a plan this time!" Ranulf announced triumphantly. As he went on to explain it, Soren was pleasantly surprised to hear something that sounded successful. Skrimir was even satisfied, since he would get to meet the enemy head-on. Soren hadn't though that Ranulf had it in him.

"So, Soren, what's it like to not have to make all the plans?" Ike asked, as they left the tent.

Soren smirked. "I'm perfectly satisfied, as long as they don't make a habit of it. If Ranulf decides to be Gallia's tactician, they'll stop paying us."

"Don't worry too much, everyone knows that you're the best strategist around. Ranulf would probably be afraid that you'd offer your skills to Begnion, if he stopped paying us."

"Only if you agreed," Soren said, mock-seriously. Ike laughed, and Soren smiled. Of course Ike would never leave the Laguz Alliance now, even if the Greil Mercenaries were no longer paid for their services.

"We'll just– Hey, is that Muston, and Aimee? And the twins, what were their names? Look." Ike pointed into the twilight a short ways off.

Soren grimaced. He'd been right. They were accruing all their acquaintances from the Mad King's War. He was even less eager to see Aimee than Kieran. The woman was a complete witch, even without her personal insults to him. No one could expect him to be eager to meet up with someone who said "eew" when she saw him. Not to mention the woman's shameless chasing after Ike. Though, Mia would be more than willing to help Soren chase Aimee off on that account.

Nodding shortly, Soren affirmed Ike's question. "Yes, Jorge and Daniel, and it looks like Ilyana is with them, and Nephenee and Brom as well." More odd ones; he'd have to readjust their supply lists to account for Ilyana's appetite, just to begin. The blonde woman next to Nephenee looked like a shifty character as well, and Soren could read attitude in her posture even from here.

Ike was already headed towards them, shouting in welcome and waving his arms. Soren turned around sharply and headed for the supply tent. The last thing he needed to do right now was talk to Aimee.

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Ummm...insert lateness excuses here. School came back with a vengeance, and it took me forever to finish Micaiah's part of the game, since I make stupid mistakes that slap me in the face while chance kicks my feet out from under me. On the bright side, I got the pleasure of KO-ing Ludveck, with Elincia alone, and routing all his troops within about half the allotted time for her endgame, so that was nice. And I have a boyfriend, who would like to spend every waking moment with me, if I let him, which unfortunately cuts into slash-writing time.

Some lines of this are quoted; Skrimir+Soren+Ranulf = amusing moments, even in the actual game. I do not own these lines, or Fire Emblem.

Thanks for reading; hope you enjoyed!


	13. Chapter 13

Reyson flew after Tibarn in silence. The hawk king wouldn't be in the mood for idle chatter, or what meager consolation Reyson could offer. In all actuality, Reyson didn't much feel like offering consolation. He wasn't as dangerously furious as Tibarn was, but there was definitely a strong burn of anger beneath his breastbone that he wasn't ready to soothe. After the last war, he would have said that Naesala had learned his lesson, and wouldn't cross them again. How wrong he was.

The fact that Tibarn had failed in his diversion of the Central Army was really the least of the issue. The Laguz Alliance would come up with something else; apparently they were working with the Greil Mercenaries, and after the Mad King's War, Reyson had plenty of faith in Soren's tactical abilities. He set that thought aside fro the moment. The more pressing issue was keeping Tibarn from doing anything too rash out of grief.

Reyson was familiar with the slaughter of his race, and so had an extremely relevant insight into Tibarn's current state of mind. Of course, he hadn't been the king of the Serennes herons, and Tibarn doubtless felt responsible for the fiasco in Phoenicis. When he was ready to listen to reason, Reyson would have to convince him that there was no way he could have known. That wouldn't be for some time, Reyson had the feeling.

It was dark by the time they reached the Laguz Alliance camp. Still, nearly the first people they saw were Commander Ike and Ranulf. Reyson devoted a moment to surprise over how different Ike looked after these three years. Beorc did grow and change so quickly...would Soren have changed much, too?

Lost in retrospection, Reyson completely missed Tibarn and the others' greetings and conversation. It would probably be dismissively humorous, as if three years were nothing. They weren't much, for laguz, but still. Must they keep up the façade of unrelenting machismo every moment?

He followed along as Commander Ike found them a tent, and collapsed in bed almost instantly. They'd been flying so hard all day...

The next day found them in a council tent almost before Reyson could blink. Naturally, General Skrimir and Commander Ike needed to know what went wrong, although neither of them seemed to be taking it into much tactical consideration. No, that duty went to Ranulf, and, naturally, Soren.

Reyson had been surprised by the jolt in his emotions when he'd filed into the tent after Tibarn and been faced by Soren sitting calmly at the table with a sheaf of papers in front of him. The joy had been painfully sharp, and equally surprising. Certainly he'd been unhappy to leave the tactician after the last war, when they finally seemed to be getting somewhere with their strange relationship, but the feeling had faded with time, until all he really felt was faint regret, and lingering affection, and friendship. There had been something else, for a brief moment, before Soren had bolted from the ballroom, but Reyson hadn't followed. He'd been a bit too much in shock.

Soren looked...much the same. Slightly older, but barely noticeable in comparison to the other beorc Reyson had seen so far. He looked more relaxed, too, and was wearing sparsely decorated grey rather than the stark black Reyson was used to. It seemed that his temper and sharp tongue were unaffected by time, though, if his interaction with Skrimir was any indication.

The new Gallian general was exactly the type that Reyson flinched to see subjected to Soren's intelligence. Complete opposites, power against cunning. While Reyson could appreciate Skrimir's obvious strength and dominant personality, especially after his time in Gallia, he still preferred Soren's subtlety.

The tactician was too busy arguing with Skrimir to pay him much attention, which made Reyson both relieved and slightly irritated. Relieved, because he could stare and search for changes to his heart's content, but irritated because really? After three years without seeing one another, it would be nice if Soren at least said hello.

He had to wait until after the entire council, through bloodthirsty exclamations on the part of Skrimir, Tibarn's unrelenting fury, Ranulf's vain attempts to make Skrimir listen, Ike's straightforward confidence, and Soren's increasingly sharp comments. Reyson had to wonder if Soren even noticed that Skrimir actually snapped to attention whenever he started to outline a plan. Yes, the Gallian general still make comments to the effect that strategy was too complicated, underhanded, and below him, but he listened. Judging by Soren's reactions, he had managed to miss it.

And then he still didn't get to talk to the tactician. Soren vanished from the tent seconds after the meeting was adjourned, while Reyson was distracted by overly loud greetings from Skrimir. Tibarn hooked him with a look as he, Ranulf, and Ike headed off somewhere to catch up, and Reyson couldn't do anything but follow without seeming rude and suspicious. 'Dejected' would probably be a mild description of his current state, the heron decided.

Mildly alleviated by the topic of conversation. According to Ranulf and Ike, Soren had benefitted from the war by becoming less violently introverted. Reyson was pleased to hear that his initial impression was right. Maybe it would be easier to figure out what, exactly, their friendship was. Hopefully they still had one. At least there seemed to be a better chance of getting Soren to talk with him about it than there would have been three years ago.

Reyson was slightly less pleased to learn that his impressions about Skrimir were also correct, and that the lion was just as enthusiastic as he'd seemed about Soren. Well, Soren's strategies, at least. There was absolutely no reason for the nagging spike of what had to be jealousy creeping though him. It was quite ridiculous. First things first, he had to figure out whether he was still on speaking terms with Soren. Goddess forbid he should be worried over Skrimir. The Soren he'd known wouldn't give someone like the Gallian general the time of day, and no one could change that much so quickly, could they?

All in all, he was relieved when he could take his leave of Tibarn and the others. He was probably acting skittish as a horse in Gallia. It wasn't in his nature to act so high-strung. Something would have to be done.

It was easy enough to find Soren's tent; it was near the command tent, and was one of the few Reyson could see with a light still lit inside. He dithered at the entrance for a moment, unsure if he should really bother Soren after such a drastic chain of events; surely the tactician would be busy fine-tuning their new strategy? The decision was made for him, quickly enough.

"Oh, come in already," Soren's voice demanded, slightly muffled by the tent fabric. Reyson twitched. More extroverted he may have become, but he still sounded the same. Slightly irritated, in this instance.

"I wasn't sure if you were busy," Reyson said indistinctly, catching one wing on the side of the tent entrance as he slipped inside. Soren was sitting on an unsteady-looking collapsible camp chair, resting one elbow on the equally rickety table. He looked more amused than annoyed, to Reyson's relief.

"How have you been? I know the war isn't going quite right at the moment, but over the past few years? I never heard anything from you, or anyone else. Not that I expected to, I mean–" Reyson shut his mouth. Babbling was unattractive and unintelligent, and he sounded like a forlorn puppy, or something equally idiotic.

Soren raised one eyebrow at him, and Reyson fought back an embarrassed flush. "Well, for the majority of that time we were at court, off and on, at Queen Elincia's request," Soren said smoothly. "We only seriously got back into the mercenary business recently, under contract from Count Bastian during the rebellion, and now from the Laguz Alliance, of course. And yourself?"

"Leanne and I have been staying in Gallia, and with Tibarn." Reyson wasn't sure what to say; the silence hung heavily in the air.

"Of course." Soren's face darkened momentarily. "It's unfortunate that King Naesala betrayed you all, again. Strange, after everything...something rings a bit wrong with the whole thing, even given his avarice."

Reyson thought that the whole thing was far more than "unfortunate", but declined from saying so. "Tibarn won't forgive him, not this time. My...kidnapping...was personal, not a crime against a whole nation. There will be blood, the next time they meet." The thought made him unhappy, despite the severity of Naesala's actions. Childhood ties couldn't be snapped so quickly, it seemed. And Soren was right, as usual; something was off about the whole thing.

"Well, that's beyond my control," Soren said, still looking troubled. "More importantly, I need to come up with a plan to keep General Skrimir happy and the rest of us alive." He scowled. "That lion has more bone for brains than anyone I've ever met."

"At least he listens," Reyson offered, perversely pleased to hear Soren's judgement of Skrimir, and not quite sure why he was defending him.

Soren made an disparaging sound and turned back to the papers on his desk. Taking that as the dismissal it clearly was, Reyson quietly left the tent, unwilling to irk Soren further so soon after seeing him for the first time in so long.

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Anecdote of the day: So, I went out to eat with my boyfriend and a couple of his friends I hadn't met before, one of whom is Japanese. He was very quiet and polite and generally Japanese all through dinner, and afterwards, when we were saying goodnight, he did that adorable little bow that Japanese people do. I was all like "SQUEEE" in my head, but didn't want to freak him out, so I didn't say anything. I love foreign exchange students.


	14. Chapter 14

After the fiasco of King Tibarn's failure–that's what it _was_, there was no point in sugar-coating it–Soren simply didn't have time to waste over Reyson. His new plans had to be implemented immediately, or they didn't have a chance. As viscerally satisfying as it was to burn down the senator's supply camp, making the senators scatter like pigeons, the plan itself felt rather cheap. Playing off of General Zelgius's honor was strategically sound, but not nearly as rewarding as a more well thought-out plan. Oh well. They'd needed a distraction, and immediately.

He needed a distraction to keep from killing Skrimir, in the meantime. It had been much preferable when the lion hadn't spared a thought for strategy, because now he seemed to have decided that Soren was the best thing since red meat. He'd thought he was hearing things when Skrimir asked–demanded–that Soren sit next to him, and had been startled enough that he'd taken the first chair he'd seen that wasn't next to the lion. So here he was, listening to Skrimir aggressively deny any possibility of a peace treaty, while Ranulf apologetically translated his arguments into intelligible speech and Reyson's feathers brushed his arm every time either of them twitched.

If they were going to make peace with Begnion, this would be the time, when the Laguz Alliance was in a superior position. But no, those cursed laguz and their cursed laguz honor wouldn't even consider a peace treaty, and Soren had to shape his strategy to fit the client's needs. Even if those needs were contrary to all common sense.

He wasn't in a good mood by the time the meeting was over, but at least he'd gotten good enough at dodging out of the council tent that he didn't have to so much as look at Skrimir again. Thank the Goddess for small mercies.

Even the inevitable conversation with Reyson was preferable. Soren had to admit that the heron's persistence seemed infinitely less irritating in light of Skrimir's behavior. At least Reyson could articulate his thoughts in an intelligent manner, when he wasn't too flustered.

Soren supposed that he should take mercy on Reyson and actually start that important conversation that they needed to have, the one about What Are We Now? but he really wasn't in a charitable mood lately. Reyson wasn't a coward; he'd work up the nerve eventually.

Or immediately, to judge by the nervous wing-flicking that betrayed the heron's unnaturally still hands as he walked into Soren's tent.

"This is bound to be an extremely awkward conversation, so could we just agree to enter into it with that understanding?" Reyson asked, perching on the extra camp chair.

"Sure," Soren said, still not quite willing to make this easier by actually furthering the conversation.

"I don't know what you were thinking after we last saw each other, at the end of the last war–you ran out so fast, and then I had to leave–but I think we need to talk through what happened," Reyson continued bravely. Soren's respect for him grew; he knew full well how difficult he could be to talk to when he was trying.

"I was surprised. " Soren stated, giving in. "You must have realized by now how much I hate that. I've never put much thought into the idea of romantic relationships, and the shock of that on top of the war ending and everything else was a little too much."

Reyson hesitated. "I meant it, what happened. I wasn't relieving tension, or any other cliché of the sort."

Soren glared at him. "I wouldn't be having this conversation with you if I felt that you'd kissed me for any such reason."

Well, saying the words certainly seemed to clear the air. Kissing Reyson hadn't been unpleasant, by any means, but it had been a shock, as much as Soren hated to admit it. Skirting around the issue had been making him feel like they'd done something wrong.

"What are we, then?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Soren didn't have a clear answer, another thing he hated to admit. This wasn't as simple or clear-cut as creating battle plans. He'd heard enough terrible ballads that inferred that there was little difference between love and war, but wasn't really sure that this was even a matter of love. And none of those ballads had happy endings.

"As I said, I wasn't just messing around," Reyson repeated, looking like he wanted to say more. "I, well, I..."

Of course he wouldn't want to commit to anything, when Soren hadn't even admitted that it hadn't been a mistake. One thing Soren had observed about relationships was that they couldn't go all one-way.

"What about the conventions against human-laguz relationships? I refuse to believe that you could possibly be serious enough to throw over hundreds of years of tradition." Soren wasn't even going to touch on Reyson's duties as prince of a nearly extinct race.

"Would you be willing to give the idea a chance?"

Soren stared. He'd expected that last reminder to knock some sense into Reyson's brain. Apparently he was serious, to a surprising degree. Really, Soren was getting quite sick of being surprised.

"What are you _talking_ about?"

Now it was Reyson's turn to look startled. Finally. "The idea of...well, of us. As in...us in a relationship. With each other."

"I know what you meant! What I don't understand is why you think it's _possible_."

"By the goddess, Soren, it's not like I'm asking you to marry me! We're friends, right? You stopped genuinely avoiding me long before the last war ended. And we're mutually attracted to one another, aren't we? You wouldn't have kissed me otherwise. And I might want to be more than friends. What's so impossible about that?"

"Apart from the fact that I'm not merely human, but Branded, and you're the Prince of your tribe?"

Reyson nodded. Soren paused. He...couldn't actually think of any issues that didn't arise from those two facts. Oh wait, yes he could.

"We're both male," Soren stated flatly.

"I...didn't think that bothered you."

"It doesn't bother _me_," Soren snapped, a feeling of unreality starting to permeate the conversation. "It might bother _other_ people."

"You wouldn't have to tell them."

"What happens when King Tibarn finds out? Or Ike? Or anyone?"

"Do you really think General Ike would think any differently of you?"

Soren thought about it. The answer was no. Ike didn't care one way or another about much of anything that most people condemned others for. He could sprout horns and Ike wouldn't think twice about it.

"...No."

Reyson nodded like he'd won something. "Neither would Tibarn."

There were a few things Soren was fairly sure that Reyson wasn't figuring into that equation, but so be it. He didn't really care about anyone's opinion but Ike's, after all.

So, was there any other reason not to...be in a relationship...with Reyson? He liked Reyson's company, he thought that the heron was genuinely beautiful, and he'd enjoyed kissing him, once he'd been able to examine the moment through the initial shock...really, he liked Reyson more than he cared to admit. If Reyson didn't care about the potential consequences, then...why not?

Well, just _because_. A terrible reason, but it was so difficult to articulate years of pushing others away, years of hiding behind his walls of bitter cynicism, all the years of avoiding everyone but Ike. He wasn't sure Reyson fully appreciated how unreal it was that he'd allowed himself to become friends with Reyson in the first place.

"I know you aren't used to letting other people close," Reyson continued. Soren decided that he hated that heron mind-reading ability, even though it was impossible that Reyson could be using it in the middle of all this chaos. It was far easier to blame that than to accept that Reyson might understand him well enough to make that point without raiding his head. "I wouldn't use it to hurt you." And that hit too close to home, didn't it.

"I'm not afraid of you," Soren snapped without thinking.

Reyson stood up, stepping slowly over to where Soren was sitting at his rickety camp desk. "I didn't think you were." His smile turned wry. "Really, how could anyone be?" He gestured to himself, all slim lines draped in white robes, and long gold hair.

Soren took a deep breath. "I–"

"SOREN!" The shout was so loud after he and Reyson's quiet intentness that they both jumped. Soren overbalanced and upset his camp chair, falling against Reyson's knees and knocking the heron onto the floor with him as Reyson's abruptly unfurled wings caught against the side of the tent, making the whole thing shudder violently. Soren vowed death to the owner of that shrilly familiar voice.

"This had better be important, Rolf," Soren gritted out, lifting the edge of one of Reyson's wings so he could get a look at the young archer.

Rolf was rather white in the face and looked gratifyingly nervous. "Um, sorry, um, Soren, Reyson, it's just that, um, well, Boyd and Mia were betting about which one of them could, um, hit more practice dummies in one swing, and since it's dark out, well. They had torches lit, so they could see. And, well, one of them" Rolf swallowed and paled even further. "Somehow one of the torches got knocked over, and hit one of the practice dummies, and then Mia hit _it_, and its head flew off, and, well, the supply tent's on fire."

Soren wasn't sure he'd heard that right. Somehow those idiots had lit a tent on fire, and Rolf was here telling him instead of doing something about it? "You did put the fire out before coming to tell me this, didn't you?"

"Um, well, Boyd and Mia are working on that, um. Oscar's helping them," Rolf offered anxiously. "They thought that, um, you would want to know sooner than later. And now you do, so, um, I'll...just go help them, shall I? I'll go do that," Rolf stammered, backing out of the tent and breaking into a run before the tent flap fell closed.

The silence lasted for a few long moments as both of them stared at the rippling tent flap, until Soren noticed that the fluffy weight on his back was still Reyson's wing, and they were both lying in a heap on the floor.

"I think I'll go kill Mia and Boyd, just as soon as you get off of me," Soren said pointedly. "Possibly Rolf for good measure. It can't be that difficult to find replacements for them, and Oscar will just have to get over the loss of his brothers."

Reyson shifted to the side, disentangling his wings and sitting up. Pieces of his ridiculously long hair–no, it didn't escape Soren that his hair was nearly as long, and no, that didn't matter–were crossed every which was, and he was still looking rather nonplussed. "Perhaps you shouldn't kill them," he said bemusedly. "They've been rather useful lately, and you really don't have time to be searching for replacements."

Soren smoothed a few strands of Reyson's hair back into place before he quite realized what his hands were doing. "True. I'll let them live this time. But I do have to go make sure nothing's ruined, and take stock of the situation."

They both stood up, straightening hair and robes and pointedly not looking at one another. Soren righted his chair, and Reyson smoothed down his ruffled feathers.

"Yes, I suppose you ought to." Reyson paused. "What a time for that to happen."

Soren grimaced. "I might still do terrible things to Rolf. Later. This really needs seeing to."

Reyson caught him by the shoulder as he turned to leave and brushed a kiss against his cheek. Soren felt himself flush, and took the waiting excuse to leave with mixed relief and disappointment.


	15. Chapter 15

So, let's just focus on the fact that I'm updating, and not the fact that it's been, what, four and a half months... Ok? Ok.

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Oddly, Reyson found himself looking at the duel between Skrimir and General Zelgius from Ranulf's point of view. How must it feel to watch Skrimir be so thoroughly beaten, when Ranulf had been thrown down by his commander so recently? Much like looking up an unscalable mountain, or seeing something precious at the bottom of the ocean. Reyson knew that Ranulf was more thoughtful and intelligent than most Gallians, or at least tried to be, but physical prowess was still a cornerstone of his culture, and it would chafe to watch the leader he couldn't defeat be brought low by a mere beorc.

Of course, no matter how thoughtful Ranulf tried to be, it didn't seem likely that the cat would be using anything near as many borderline-mawkish metaphors. Gallians didn't really appreciate linguistic delicacies of the sort. And Ranulf was intelligent enough to know that Zelgius was no mere beorc. To top it all off, Ranulf was optimistic enough that he probably wasn't seeing this the same way Reyson was at all.

The matter of retreating was something else entirely, though. As a laguz, even as a heron, Reyson couldn't help but feel dishonored by such a defeat. He could keep his head well enough to be glad that they were retreating rather than dead, but it still felt shameful. Staring gloomily over the wall of the castle they'd so recently taken, Reyson allowed himself a little time to mope.

Those footsteps were familiar. Not that there were many options to identify steps that sounded of soft shoes and swishing robes, but the military precision of each footfall narrowed it down even further.

"We have three days to be out of Begnion territory," Soren stated, voice betraying no emotion.

"I'm sure Skrimir finds the fact that General Zelgius gave us that much time to be an insult," Reyson said, testing Soren's mood.

The tactician crossed his arms on the walltop and dropped his head to rest on them. "Don't even mention Skrimir. If I think much more about how that imbecile chanced this whole war on a duel and then lost, I'll have to go finish what Zelgius started, and kill him myself, interracial relations catastrophe or no."

Reyson smiled, mimicking Soren's posture against the wall, just close enough that their elbows touched and his wing drifted across Soren's shoulder. Sounded like Soren was just as worked up about this fiasco as most of the laguz, in his own way.

"What comes next? The war isn't over yet, I presume?"

"I wouldn't even suggest that in front of anyone else, if you value their good opinions of you," Soren retorted, turning his head to look at Reyson. "Can you imagine what Skrimir, Tibarn, or any other laguz would say? Even Ike wouldn't even consider the idea at this point. We'll retreat, and regroup, and try again."

"How soon?"

"As soon as I can come up with a workable plan, if any of our aforementioned leaders have any say," Soren grumbled. "I suppose you'll go back to stay in Gallia? Tibarn wouldn't want to risk your safety, now that we've seen how dangerous this war is."

Reyson stilled, trying to figure out how to interpret that question. His first instinct was to be offended– hadn't he proven his usefulness in the last war? He wasn't a child or a helpless peasant, to run from the dangers of war. But, there was just a flash of something in Soren's eyes, something unsettled enough that Reyson couldn't believe that Soren was insulting him. Concern was almost too much to hope for, even if they were now even more of a 'we' than Reyson had truly believed possible. Yet, there was definitely a hint of something personal in Soren's question.

"It would be safer, certainly," Reyson stalled, desperately searching Soren's expression.

Yes, it was so slight he almost missed it, and would have if he'd blinked, but that was really disappointment flickering through the calculating red of Soren's eyes. Reyson let out a relieved breath and couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face.

"Of course I won't do it. This is as much my was as yours–more, even– and I won't sit safely in King Gallia's palace while others fight."

There was that faint flicker again...only, this time, Reyson would swear it was almost relief.

"Don't think we'll have time to look after you when we're fighting," Soren warned, but there wasn't the usual bite in his voice.

"As if," Reyson retorted, still smiling. "Tibarn will still have Janaff and Ulki breathing down my neck. You just don't want me to think you're pleased I'm going to keep hanging around."

"I have far more important things to worry about," Soren snapped, a touch too slowly, without enough venom, turning away a moment after Reyson saw the tinge of red flushing his cheeks.

Reyson just made an agreeable sound and leaned in a little closer. It was too bad that Soren still had to defend like that, but it was such an integral part of his character that Reyson would be more worried if he hadn't.

"You really think you can conceive of a winning strategy against the entire might of Begnion's army?" Reyson mused, not really doubting it himself.

"With enough time," Soren retorted. "They are the most fearsome army on the continent, but the Greil Mercenaries weren't exactly facing an equal against Daein, either."

"Depends on how you look at it," Reyson said lightly. "No one has hesitated to call you one of the best tacticians of our time, and Mad King Ashnard was so called for a reason."

Soren snorted, the closest he'd probably get to a laugh at the moment. Reyson felt warmer than the chilly breeze really allowed for.

"Don't start painting Daein as the underdog now," Soren replied, with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "But I grant it will not be so easy when Begnion had men of General Zelgius' quality. And, as we've learned, battles aren't won by numbers alone, but we cannot deny that they give a distinct advantage."

"Not that any of that will let you off the hook. Everyone thinks too highly of you, even General Skrimir."

Soren made a dismissive gesture. "Just because he couldn't come up with a strategy if his honor depended on it."

"But he does come up with strategy, Soren," Reyson said innocently, waiting for Soren's disbelieving expression before continuing. "Attack the enemy, defeat them, and go home victorious."

"Fine, I'll allow that that's a good starting point. But an infant could get that far."

"Clearly, since you beorc are all practically infants to us, and you seem to manage just fine," Reyson added, nudging Soren's shoulder and conveniently forgetting to move backwards after.

Soren just stared at him, but didn't shift away, which felt like a victory worthy of any of the tactician's strategies. Reyson let his wing settle closer against Soren's shoulders.

"I shouldn't let you do that," Soren deadpanned, brushing away a few strands of hair that Reyson's wing had disturbed.

"Who's to know?"

"I don't know, and that's the problem. I doubt it would meet with much approval." Still, Soren just reached across his body and smoothed the feathers he could reach over his shoulder, eyes slightly unfocused and distant.

"I should care more. About approval. But it isn't so important right now." Reyson sighed. "Everyone is too busy to worry about whatever we might do, when there's a war going on all around us, even if they find out."

"I should be one of those too-busy people," Soren snapped halfheartedly. "I shouldn't waste time like this." Reyson couldn't help but notice the lack of comment on the matter of being found out. That could be either very good or very bad. And, call him chicken, but Reyson wasn't willing to have that discussion now, when everything–too broad a term; better to say their relationship, but it still sounded strange–was working.

"Everyone needs to take a break sometimes," Reyson reminded him. "You've heard that before, and not from me."

Soren huffed, awarding Reyson a I'm-not-even-going-to-reply-to-that-inane-statement glare.

"I can wax eloquent on the subject, and so can General Ike," Reyson continued playfully. "What would we do if you worked yourself to death? Or this one– You should learn to delegate and stop trying to do everything yourself. We're perfectly capable of helping you. The world isn't going to end if you don't –"

"Hush, you stupid heron!" Soren ordered, but Reyson could see amusement in his eyes, and the hand over Reyson's mouth was trembling slightly from repressed laughter. "You're clearly well aware that I get that speech from Ike and Titania almost weekly, so I don't need to hear it from you as well!"

Reyson smiled against Soren's hand and pulled his wings in closer, incidentally (not planned at all. of course not) drawing Soren a little closer too. The tactician started to blush, and snatched his hand back like he'd been burned. "I–"

Reyson suddenly heard footsteps running up the stairs behind them. By the change in the look of minor panic on Soren's face, he heard them too.

As Reyson turned his head, a breathless Rolf burst into view, panting and nearly tripping over his own feet. "Reyson? Oh, Reyson have you seen Soren? Oh, wait, hi Soren, um..." The kid had grown in the last three years, yes, but wasn't any more immune to Soren's glares, it seemed.

"What, Rolf?" Soren snapped, all amusement replaced with the usual venom.

"Oh, umm," Rolf stammered. "Well, you see, Tibarn just got back, and he looked really angry–more angry than usual, I mean, he's been pretty angry a lot lately it seems like, but anyway he got back just now and he says he needs to talk to you right away! He was saying something about Sigrun to General Ike when I left the meeting room..."

Soren muttered something violent, stepping away from Reyson, who couldn't help but feel slightly irritated by Tibarn's timing.

"Um, by the way, what were you two doing?" Rolf asked curiously. It took approximately half a second for him to realize what he'd just asked, and whom of, judging by the way all the color drained from his face. "Nevermind, it's none of my business, um, anyway, I'm supposed to be finding Titania too, so I'll just go now," he added quickly, flinching under Soren's glare.

That glare followed the young mercenary until he got around the first corner, then Soren sighed, some of the anger leaving his posture. "At least it was just Rolf. We'd better get down to see what's going on."

As it turned out, they discovered upon reaching the meeting room, Tibarn had run into Sigrun, of the Apostle's guards, and received a rather cryptic warning.

"What really got to me was how sad the woman looked," Tibarn said gruffly. "She obviously thinks we're in some kind of danger, but why should she care? We're at war, by the Goddess!"

"There must be some kind of conflict within Begnion's upper echelons of command," Soren said tersely. "There's been signs before now. What's more important is why we would be in danger now, when we've been given three days to retreat by General Zelgius."

"The cowards!" Skrimir roared. "They won't honor their agreement! We should never trust the enemy!"

Reyson could see Soren visibly restrain himself before answering. "Begnion would lose immeasurable face on an international scale if they attack us before the time is up. The only way that would happen would be if the Senate decided to take matters into their own hands and bypass the Apostle's command."

"Would that ever happen?" Ike asked curiously.

Just hearing his voice calmed Soren down. Reyson had to quash a rather violent burst of jealousy.

"We can't discount the possibility," Soren replied. "Such an event would certainly add an interesting new dimension to this war."

"Let them fight amongst themselves! Then we can defeat those who survive!"

Reyson was fairly sure that Mia bursting into the meeting room saved Skrimir's life, to judge by the violent tick appearing at Soren's temple.

"Commander Ike! Begnion troops have been spotted approaching the castle, and they don't look like they're just here to watch us leave!"

~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O ~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~

I don't own Fire Emblem...

If you haven't figured out by now that this entire fic is a mess of spoilers for everything in the game, it's probably too late to warn you...

I played this chapter, and the next few, back in May, so my details may not be quite exact...

Thanks for reading ^_^


	16. Chapter 16

Soren was, for lack of a better term, furious. Trying not to show it, but from the sidelong glances Reyson kept giving him as he arranged their troops for battle, it was obvious that the heron could tell he was more than merely irritated as usual. Titania was giving him odd looks too, and he had a few unpleasant suspicions about what those might be about. Rolf didn't exactly keep secrets.

At least there were these self-righteous Begnion knights to take some of the seething rage out on. They were really the least of the things frustrating him, at the moment, but he still couldn't physically attack Skrimir, and didn't really want to harm Rolf. Yet. It would depend on whether those suspicious looks Titania was giving him came to anything.

So he was back to frying Begnion soldiers for stress relief. And it was relieving; the Begnion knights were well-trained and well-equipped, of course, but Soren would like to think that the Greil Mercenaries were even more skilled, and, of course, between Ike and himself, more well-directed.

More enthusiastic as well. As much as personalities like Marcia and Mia irked him off the battlefield, they were useful on it. Still irritating–there went Mia, shrieking gleefully as she knocked a knight off his horse; Soren narrowly dodged the unfortunate's sword as he lost his grip–but useful. Most of the enemies they fought were too taken aback by the girls' over-enthusiasm to defend themselves properly.

It wasn't long before they had fought their way down the field to where the enemy general was. Offense being the best defense, after all–as much as Soren hated such smarmy truisms, they were cliché for a reason. The man was enough of a smarmy idiot to stand there expounding upon the reasons for this attack, while Ike and a few of the others stood by uneasily, waiting until Soren gave them the go-ahead. At least the pitiful excuse for a general had given them some useful information.

So, Soren fumed as he directed the mercenaries to get cleaned up and ready to leave, there was enough of a rift between the apostle and the senate to allow something like this to happen. To allow the senate to disregard acknowledged terms of surrender and attack before the allotted three days were up. They had been forced to risk life and limb, to waste energy and time, and would still have General Zelgius right behind them all too soon.

There weren't going to be any easy choices anytime soon. Not that there usually were, but... Anyway, Soren was still furious, not least because it was becoming clear what the next step of this farce of a peaceful retreat was going to have to be.

He was stomping irritably back to the room in the castle he'd been using as a study to draw up the plans for that unavoidable next move, considering replacing his soft shoes with something that stomped more satisfyingly, when Titania caught up with him.

"Soren! Soren, wait." She didn't sound angry, or upset, but she did sound concerned, which was worse. It meant she was feeling parental. While Soren appreciated Titania as a soldier, and acknowledged that her input during war meetings could be useful, she was not his mother, by the Goddess, and he didn't want her to be.

Unfortunately, he couldn't exactly ignore her the way he could nearly anyone else, or snap at her when she'd barely provoked him.. yet. So Soren grudgingly turned to give her a look that was just the civil side of disdainful, and answered in a similarly barely-acceptable tone of dismissal.

"Yes, Titania?"

"I'd like to talk to you, Soren."

Soren stared at her for a moment, expression hardening. This was either secret, or dangerous, or both, or worse yet, personal, if the knight was stalling like this. "Clearly."

Titania sighed in exasperation. "I'd like to clarify a few things about your recent behavior, so unless you'd like your personal business under critique in public, we should go somewhere else."

"And what makes you think I'd be willing to discuss anything of the sort with you?" Soren snapped. That was certainly enough provocation.

"Because it's about your relationship with Prince Reyson," Titania said sharply, but, thank the Goddess, quietly enough that no one they couldn't see would be able to hear. Soren felt hot, then cold, then simply furious– there was a pattern developing here– and chose cold, because there was no point in the blind heat of fury when one was backed into a corner. "And I don't think you want me to start asking about him at the next meeting."

Soren was fairly sure that Titania– Titania, by the Goddess!– was blackmailing him. Blackmailing. Him. Into talking about Reyson. With that awful, awful word involved– Relationship. And there wasn't a good method of escape, because this wasn't war. He couldn't kill her and escape, couldn't use any of his brilliant plans... He probably wouldn't even be able to lie, because Titania wouldn't be doing this if she was just curious. She must have enough evidence to warrant this advance.

"Fine!" Soren hissed, not bothering to hide his displeasure as he spun around with a satisfying flare of his robes and stalked towards his study. "Come on."

To her credit, or at least to her credit on another day when he wasn't so irrevocably disapproving of her, Titania didn't trail along behind him like a... kicked puppy, or...Rolf. She walked like she was perfectly confident in herself, just half a pace behind.

Soren barely refrained from slamming the door of his study once they got inside, dropping into one of the overly ostentatious chairs near the window. What was it with nobility and plastering their family crests onto everything they owned?

Titania sat in the chair across from him, and Soren gave her a hard, and very silent, stare, as she persisted in saying nothing. He wasn't about to make this easy for her.

"I... alright, Soren, I'll be blunt. It isn't a very complicated question. I want to know what you feel for Prince Reyson," Titania finally blurted out. More bravely than Soren had expected, really. But she had the audacity to suggest that the answer would be simple?

"Why?" Soren asked, equally blunt.

"Because it's important," Titania said. Now she sounded irritated too. "He's the prince of the heron laguz, who are nearly extinct as you well know. Every laguz ruler will protect him to the death, and would be willing to cause death on his behalf for next to no provocation. That's the one thing I think all of them– Tibarn, Skrimir and King Gallia, even Naesala and the dragon king– would agree on. If you were anyone else, I'd tell you not to toy with him, because of the political hazards.

"But then there's you. And I'm not flattering you when I say that you're barely less important than he is, at least as far as this war is concerned. We would lose without you, so we can't risk you being killed by an angry laguz for upsetting their White Prince. You know that. I know that there's no way you don't see the political ramifications of anything you may choose to do, or feel." Titania paused for a moment, glancing at Soren as if for confirmation before taking a visibly deep breath and plunging on.

"Apart from all the grand-scale consequences, I'm concerned for you, Soren. There's no way you would let a political mistake slip, but I can't help but think that you don't have any experience with the personal side of this. I don't want you to be hurt."

Soren let that speech sit as he repressed the urge to shout that there was no reason to be worried, because he had no relationship with the heron prince. "You never said what, exactly, you're worried will hurt me." Hopefully she didn't know how far Soren had let himself go.

Titania looked thoughtful. "You've never reacted to anyone the way you have to Prince Reyson. I was just happy you seemed to be making a friend for the first time since Ike." And hopelessly surprised, her expression said. Soren suppressed a self-mocking smile. "But lately... well, when Rolf described how he'd found you, earlier today, it just fit with a few other things I've noticed lately. Soren, what is Reyson to you?"

Carefully wrapping himself in tactician mode to resist the unnerving panic rising through him, Soren searched for the best way to minimize damages. He would clearly have to stop consorting with Reyson immediately, if Titania had noticed that much. She clearly suspected something too close to the reality, and if she had noticed others would too. He had some difficulty squashing the sense of loss the revelation that he would have to have nothing more to do with Reyson gave him, but he didn't have a reputation for being cold and heartless for nothing. He'd have to make sure that Rolf wouldn't talk to anyone else, and keep Titania quiet, and–

"Soren, Soren, please. I know that look. This isn't an emergency, no one is going to stop you, no one will be upset. There's nothing at risk. You have every right to feel however you want, and if the prince feels the same way, that's even better. You don't have to hide anything, or fight anything, Soren, please."

"You don't even know _what_ I feel," he snapped.

"I think I might," she replied, eyes soft in a way that made Soren uneasy. "Soren... are you falling in love with Reyson?"

Any appropriate response to that ridiculous idea flew right out of Soren's head as he realized how logical it actually was. He sat frozen, staring at Titania like he'd never seen her before, like she'd suddenly announced that she was his mother, or something equally preposterous. He was fairly sure he'd never been so afraid, not since Ike went to fight the Black Knight alone. This was so perfectly different from anything he knew that he had no idea where to begin finding a way out. He wasn't even sure whether he needed to.

"I..." He paused. Maybe... he should be honest with her. Titania wouldn't betray him, he had to admit that much. And maybe... she could help, as much as the idea grated. "I don't know."

That soft look intensified. Soren was about to be smothered in maternal compassion, he just knew it. Any other time...

"I'm happy for you, if you are, Soren. Everyone will be. We only want you to be happy, you know. We've all been so pleased that you've opened up to us even a little since the next war, and everyone deserves to be happy. You've given so many people a chance at happiness, you know, by giving us our strategy for the last war. Everyone will be so happy to hear–"

"Titania!" Soren managed to choke out. If he heard the word 'happy' or any of its derivations ever again, it would be too soon. Then her last words hit. "You can't say anything! To anyone! Ever, do you understand me!" There wasn't nearly enough threat behind his words. He sounded panicked, as young as he was, and completely inexperienced. He hadn't even denied the idea of love yet. This conversation was spinning out of control.

Titania looked surprised that he wouldn't want to share his humiliating uncertainty and intolerable weakness with the rest of the army. Typical. Not to mention her ridiculous optimism towards the reception such an announcement would get. The thought made him flinch. There were certainly people who wouldn't be pleased. Soren would never hear the end of it from Shinon, just to begin with. There was no way that King Tibarn would approve of Soren being in any sort of relationship with Reyson...even if he wanted to be! This was all so, so...

"Doesn't Prince Reyson feel the same way?" Titania asked, puzzled. "I was so sure he was fond of you..."

Soren bit back strangled laughter. Now she thought he was suffering from unrequited love, of all the cliché, impossible, mawkish eventualities? "Has it escaped your notice that we're both male? Such a relationship wouldn't be accepted so easily even if we were both human," Soren sidestepped. Since neither of them were, things would be even more difficult. If things ever happened! Which they probably would not!

"No one here would care," Titania began with a slight frown.

"Shinon," Soren retorted flatly, carefully enunciating each syllable of the archer's name.

"You can't let him bother you, he never says anything good about anyone, you know that–"

"But whatever he says, other people will think. He's a good indicator, really, sort of an exaggerated cynicism that lets us know what people might balk at," Soren said smoothly, gaining back some control over the situation. He just had to make sure that Titania would keep her mouth shut.

"I suppose I understand why you wouldn't want to cause an upset just now," the paladin allowed. "But... does this mean that the White Prince does feel the same way you do?"

Soren couldn't think of an appropriate sidestep quickly enough, and it seemed that his silence was enough of an answer for Titania. She had her arms around him before he could flinch away, and after a moment he let the stiffness out of his body. It wasn't unpleasant, exactly, and it seemed to mean something to her.

Since when would that matter? Soren sighed internally. This entire idea of caring when he was offending people seemed to be spreading out of control. It was fine to care whether he was offending Reyson, all things considered, but he couldn't let this go much farther. He liked his reputation, it made people take him seriously. If he let people go around hugging him, he'd just be a petit mage with long hair who cuddled. Unacceptable.

As he pushed Titania away, more gently than he'd like to admit, she gave him a brilliant, horrifically motherly smile. "I'm happy for you, Soren. You really do deserve–"

"To be happy, I know," Soren finished quickly. That word... he huffed. "Leave. I have things to do," he dismissed, not quite able to pit the right amount of force into his speech. Titania kept smiling, and even laughed softly as she shut the door behind her.


End file.
